Inhuman Resurrection
by Scarred DNA
Summary: L . . . brought back to the world of the living by modern science, two centuries after his death. CANCELLED.
1. Prologue Forever's End

_I don't own Death Note._

* * *

**Tunes:**

_ Lucia Di Lammermoor_

_Five Millenia Later_

* * *

**Prologue - Forever's End  
**

* * *

_Winchester, England_

_2204 A.D._

Long-ago charred ground crunched beneath protected feet, the sound of rusted and burnt wrought iron creaking on its barely intact hinges joining in the symphony of destroyed matter.

"This doesn't look like any facility I've ever been to."

One of two partners scouting the premises addressed his companion over the roar of fusion engines hovering nearby.

The older of the two looked over his shoulder, the Mayan gold of tainted atmosphere reflecting sharply off his visor. "It's an old one, supposedly built under an orphanage of some kind."

His partner sighed, stepping along ground that looked as though it had once been a garden of some sort – flowers, maybe, or vegetables. A large, petrified tree passed his line of sight, it's branches no longer producing protective shade for the long dead plant-life that once sought shelter under its foliage.

They came upon a small tower of cement and rock that somehow still managed to support its own weight. A plaque still hung from the pillar, its gold metal oxidized and black from intense heat.

_Wammy's House_.

"You sure this is the right place?"

"Shut it, Private. This is the location on the record, and that's all I know."

The younger behind him obeyed, following his commanding officer through the entrance way and towards marble steps. Looking around, he'd venture a guess that this place took a direct hit. No signs of life littered the ground where grass should have been – only crystallized dirt that resembled cloudy glass. The light of the setting sun came through bad air that still settled several miles upward and around the location in blotted rays of burnt orange. The building ahead, their destination, was just barely intact. Scorch marks littered the external stone sides, and the roof was entirely gone, replaced with a makeshift covering of canvas.

But the Private could still make out the features of what one would expect to find in a Nineteenth Century cathedral. The destroyed yard surrounded with iron fencing, half of a stone cross still erected high on the roof, the remains of a bell-tower that no longer held its iron instrument. Definitely had to have been a church at one time.

They stopped at the first step, his Sergeant flashing a bright light into the darkness through an open doorway. Debris covered a once pristine hardwood floor, previously white-washed walls covered in grey soot.

"Seismic readings indicate there should be an entrance to the underground–"

"I found it," the older responded, stepping forward and pointing his light down through a large hole in the floor. "Blast doors at the basement level. Let's get down there." His first foot in resulted in complaint from the weakened floor, but it held in the presence of long-lost human weight. The two worked quickly, setting up a portable ladder on one tattered edge of the destroyed flooring.

* * *

Dust swirled around their feet as they hit the bottom level, floating up to glimmer in the faint rays of light that found their way this deep into the facility. The younger was first to approach, swiping his hand across an archaic keypad covered in age.

"What's the code?"

His commander held up a small, lit data pad in front of his visor. "Two, zero, zero, four, one, one, zero, five."

"Still operational." The other responded in awe as small beeps indicated the acceptance of the keyed in numbers. With the last number punched in, a prolonged beep gave way to decompression of the doors, the seal dissipating in a loud hiss. A moment later, the sound of two pistols being readied and aimed at the parting doors tuned in.

Light spilled from the new opening, engulfing both men in a blinding blanket of bright white.

"Well fuck me sideways!" The Sergeant barked, lowering his weapon and stepping inside.

* * *

Several large cases were hoisted into the twilight of evening, their thick titanium not having seen anything but artificial light for decades. Men ran back and forth, transporting them from the dead ground of their long-time home to an awaiting aircraft.

Two of them sat in the forefront of the collection being lined into the ship's cargo bay, resting side-by-side in death just as they had in life. The rumble of engines increased as the ship made its vertical ascent, pivoted, and then began its journey into the sky; its precious freight experiencing their first exploration into space several decades too late.

Their arrival to a much larger cruiser marked more movement, more warm hands imprinting oily designs on their cold metal casings. They were being secured in place inside a holding room, their caretakers preparing them for an extended journey to yet another new destination.

Earth lay behind them now, quickly shrinking away in the window just above the pair. A trip that would have taken months in their lifetime now took only a few days. The two sat with infinite patience within their protective shells, the sounds and vibrations of the ship's voyage completely lost on them.

Soon, they would be accosted again. Removed from their containers, more hands would transplant them from their cold storage to an updated version, label them, and put them with the others. There, they would find their future uncertain, if they had one at all.

But for now, they remained in oblivion. Existing in their pause of nothingness, neither were aware of the blue light that danced along the reflective surface of their alloy casing. Neither took part in the conversations going on around them among the ship's crew. Neither cared that it was cold in their cells, or that it was dinner time. They didn't know the time or the date, why it was that invaders had taken them from their home, or that their home had even been destroyed.

They only knew the finality of death, that black curtain at show's end that enveloped them in darkness forever.

End forever.


	2. The Scrap of Legends

_I don't own Death Note._

* * *

**The Scrap of Legends**

* * *

She could hear the obtrusive beeping resonating from beside her sleeping area. It hadn't disturbed her since she hadn't been sleeping, but it was still awfully late for any contact. Turning her head just to her left, she took note of the time on the clock bolted to the wall above the door.

_3:25am_

She sighed. It was better than lying here in the small, dark room with nothing but her thoughts to accompany her. She reached over slightly to the same left, and with a slight _click_ gave her caller their desired audience.

"What is it?"

"Did I wake you?" The voice of a young man, innocent and unassuming, inquired of her.

"Yes." She lied for no particular reason, pinching the bridge of her nose tiredly.

"That's regrettable, but I think you'll be glad that I did." He said no more, waiting for her reaction. But her reaction was one he couldn't see, her slender body bolting upright off the gel bedding in one quick movement.

There was only one reason she could think of that _he_ would be calling her in the dead of night, and it was a reason she'd been waiting _months_ for. Had he found the perfection she'd entrusted him to search for?

"You're serious? You have it?"

"Don't get your hopes up just yet. I've found . . . potential. _Valuable_ potential, I think, if it comes to fruition. But nothing sure yet. I think you should come have a look. How soon can you be here?"

She was already up, throwing the pale blue of a blouse and the smooth gray of slacks onto her bare skin. "Twenty minutes."

"Understood. I'll be waiting outside."

* * *

She made it in fourteen minutes, hurrying up the few steps towards his waiting form right outside the main entrance. He turned at the sound of her approaching, pinning pleased eyes onto the lovely woman not much older than him.

"Excellent timing, as usual." He moved his hand to a keypad just beside the door, his fingers dancing across the numbers with ease. The door slid open, revealing a small stainless steel entry point – a security check that needed to be bypassed in order to gain access to the rest of the steel and concrete of the facility.

"What's the catchphrase for today?" She'd forgotten to check in her rush to get here.

"_So far, so good." _

He went first, submitting himself to a fingerprint scan, a voice print scan, and a retina scan. Once beyond the checkpoint, he turned to wait for her.

"_Please rescan retina, and repeat today's code phrase in a normal voice_," the system demanded of her, having failed to register her information. She complied, albeit a little annoyed.

"Oddly enough, that only happens with you." He commented when she turned a raised eyebrow to him.

She followed two steps behind him as they exited the elevator now on the ground floor, the clicking of her heels coming in a faster succession than his own long-legged strides. It was chilly down here, underground, and the lighting in such a place always gave her the creeps. Bright white bounced off shiny steel and blue synthetic marble. And the smell . . . she'd never quite gotten used to the smell of constantly recirculated, treated air. It gave her the impression of too much ionization, not that she knew what that would smell like exactly.

Another keypad tap, and they turned off into a door on the right of the corridor.

"This is . . ."

"Yes. That's why I called you as soon as I had the information." He didn't turn to address her, instead continuing to maneuver her through an impossibly large maze of plexiglass and titanium divided into rows upon rows of pod-like pedestals. "Here we are."

He spoke just before slowing down, and finally stopping in front of one titanium cubicle, his body turned towards the contents.

"There's no label." She examined the outer shell before leaning down to look inside the glass.

"I know. You are here because of my suspicion. I said potential, remember?" He stuffed his hands in his pockets, sharing her interest in the object.

Rising and crossing her arms, she gazed at him now curiously. "I'd like to hear your reasoning now, if you please."

He smiled at her, not the least bit intimidated. "Of course. As you said, there's no label. So when I came across it, I sent it through a preliminary scan. I couldn't figure out much since there's damage that needs to be repaired. But . . ." He touched his finger to the small screen attached to the front of the pod just below the glass shielding, bringing up values from the scan.

She bowed slightly, her eyes darting over the numbers as if she were in an REM cycle before freezing on two of the lines.

"How is that possible? Screening should have caught this."

"That data is from my own scan. Look at the older record." He tapped something else on the hair thin plastic, and waited for her to digest the information.

"An error?"

"That, or someone tampered with the results on purpose. I'm not sure, honestly. An error is possible though, since it's a transport from an older facility. You know how careless MSI can be with these older ones."

She pushed a fingernail against the screen on her own, navigating back to the correct data. "Any information on it at all?"

"Not much. It's a new arrival, having been discovered at a facility in England. White male, mid-twenties . . . looks like oxygen deprivation. As I said, there is a great deal of damage, mostly due to inadequate preservation from what I can tell. But that aside, it's a fantastic specimen. Haven't seen one like it in a long time." He was giddy with emotion, clearly enamored by it. "I think it's a genuine Class XII."

She turned sharp eyes to him. "Class XII?"

"Given the preliminary markers, I'd say so. But there's something else."

She waited expectantly as he pulled up a new cluster of information on the screen.

"Do you know this man?"

She looked at what he pointed to, recognizing the name only. "Quillsh Wammy. A famous inventor of his time, wasn't he?"

"Yes. You could even say some of his work has made what we have today possible."

"Is he here?" She don't know why she asked, unless there was another error.

"No, he was one of the first to go. A highly sought after Class X. Anyway, he also came from the same English facility. And guess who he was paired up with?"

She looked down at the hunk of meat suspended in clear blue stasis fluid, both of which were enclosed within a glass sphere, and listened intently while he continued to explain.

"They came together, and most likely got separated due to the scanning error on this one."

"Any info on Wammy?"

He shook his head. "Nothing that would indicate who _this_ is. All his family was proper buried, and he never married or had children."

She sighed. These unknowns almost never ended up with any good results. Still, a Class XII was extremely rare – so much so that there were waiting lists for them.

"How extensive is the damage?" She leaned into the glass for a closer look, her eyes following the pale trails of brain matter, wondering at what the electricity that once danced within had created.

"Well, considering how old it is – it could be worse. It probably suffered in one of those cryo-prototypes of the Twenty-First century, back when we were still freezing them. There's synapse degradation, and the pathways have deteriorated somewhat. But it's still repairable."

"Twenty-first? That's a long time, Lieutenant. Date of death?"

"I'd put it at around," he looked at the scanning record for a moment, making a small humming sound in the back of his throat as he calculated. "Beginning of the twenty-first century, actually. No later than 2010." He straightened, turning his attention back to her. "So, what do you think?"

"I'm not sure. How much time do I have?"

His face turned solemn, almost heart-broken. He was one to take his job very seriously, and he hated to see the end-result of an unwanted. Especially one of such caliber.

"None, Doctor. It's scheduled to be destroyed at 0900 _today_."

Less than five hours away. Either she was incredibly lucky, having caught it just in time; or she wasn't meant to have even come across it in the first place. Really, she'd wanted something that was a little more of a sure thing. Taking a chance on an unknown, no matter how impressive, would be expensive and time-consuming if it failed. She only had one last shot at this, and her chances of success were already slim. It would be illogical to add anymore defeating factors to the equation.

"I'll pass, I think."

"But Doctor–"

"_Lieutenant_," she snapped at him before softening her tone. "I appreciate your effort very much, but I don't feel that this is the right choice for my project."

They both knew she had no authority over him, but that didn't stop him from acting as though she did. He respected her immensely, almost fearing her a little, given her record.

"May I speak candidly?"

She looked almost as if she would hesitate before nodding. "Go ahead."

He took a step closer to her, leaning in a bit. "I don't know what this project of yours is, exactly. I'll admit I've heard rumors, and some of them are pretty out there if I know you at all. It's really none of my business, to be honest." He looked down at the remains before continuing. "But something tells me that this should be your choice. Even if you don't _feel_ it, then you should consider that it will most likely take years for you to come across another find like this. You aren't high priority, Doctor. Anything over a Class VII will be out of your reach for a very long time."

She read his eyes for a moment more before turning back to the object of their discussion. He was right. Not only was she not high priority . . . she was downright on the edge of losing her support and funding for this. The brass had never liked her research, and had only grudgingly granted her resources for it because of her relationship with a now deceased Admiral. With him gone, the chances of being refused a renewal on her contract were increasing exponentially.

And even if they weren't, would she be willing to wait years? She was already on her _fourth_ month, and even that length of time had her ready to scrap the entire thing in defeat.

". . . Doctor?" He hadn't meant to offend her, but he thought it best to give it to her straight. Besides, he didn't want to see this brain destroyed, and she seemed like a better option for it than incineration. A real live Class XII? Well, sort of. Such a Genius Level was practically unheard of, at least in his time. He couldn't help but let his imagination run away with him in the possibilities.

"Alright," she found herself agreeing with a sigh. "But _you_ will put in the formal request, initiate the Cease and Desist order, and schedule it for an in-depth analysis. Understood?"

He smiled at her, more than happy to do her grunt work. "Absolutely."

"And get that damage repaired. I want this thing tip-top."

He nodded. "I'll do it personally. He'll be good as new. Well, not–"

"I got it, Lieutenant. Just notify me when you have the results." She turned on her heel, retracing her steps back toward the entrance. Before she left this particular row, she turned back to him. "Thanks, Shep."

He was already popping the release to move the glass housing off its pedestal, so immersed in his work that he paid her no attention. With an admiring grin, she sauntered off back to her office.

* * *

"I was wrong." He burst into her office in a rush, slamming the palm reader down on the desk she currently occupied. "It's not a Class XII."

"Well what is it then, damnit!" She snatched the reader, expecting an answer before she could read it. He complied.

"Perfection." He said the word with such reverence, she forgot the device and jerked her gaze up towards him. He was smiling stupidly at her, and moving around the desk to hunch over her as if he had the secret of the Universe to tell.

"It's like nothing I've ever seen, Doctor," he spoke low, with a quiet awe. "I can't even describe it to you, other than to say that it's _so_ intellectually stunning, it's almost inhuman."

She looked over the results now, noting what it was he saw. "This record . . . have you stored it into the database?"

"Not yet."

"Good. Don't. Stick with the original faulty record you showed me last night."

"Are you asking that I falsify records for you?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

With a turn of her head, she slid intense blue to his unsure brown. "That's exactly what I'm asking you to do. You offered it to me, and I've decided to accept. If you enter that record, one of the Archive AIs is sure to pick it up. If that happens, I'll lose this," she dangled the device between them, indicating the results still scrolling in electric blue. "Then, you will have broken your word and I'll no longer be able to trust you. Is that what you want?"

He straightened, seeming to shrink just a bit beneath her penetrating gaze even though he towered over her sitting form. He'd heard the stories about her . . . shrewd, cunning, and willing to manipulate anyone within her ability to do so to get what she wanted. And he'd always discounted them as jealous gossip, because his friendship with her had never indicated there was any truth to them. But now, with that fierce look in her eyes that told him - in no uncertain terms - that she would have it her way, Shepherd was sure there was truth to be found in those sewing circles.

"There are serious consequences for something like that."

She nodded. "There are, if you get caught. I'll take full responsibility, and you have my word on that."

He still wasn't convinced, reaching a casual hand out to reclaim his data pad and then shuffling his feet a bit as if waiting for something more.

She sighed. Didn't this fool boy know she could read him like a cluster of code? "Fine. I'll go to dinner with you."

He jammed his free hand into her face with a little too much eagerness for her tastes. "Deal," he sang happily. With a shrug, she shook it before indicating that he sit in the chair on the other side of her antique desk.

"Pandora." She called to no one in particular. Not a split second later, a small crystal holopad set within the synthetic wood of her desk glimmered to life to her right. Standing on the pedestal was a tiny, fourteen-inch tall holographic representation of a woman. A vision of perfection, she wore a shimmering silver gown reminiscent of those worn by ancient Roman women, and a matching veil. Long, dark curls cascaded down her back, and on top of those sat an intricate gold crown. At her feet lay a small chest, the promise of hope escaping its opening in soft golden light.

Even with her size, her high-definition brilliance lit the dim room with something akin to starlight.

"_Yes, Doctor?"_ she inquired politely in a siren's voice.

"I need all references to file number . . .", she held out her hand for his palm reader. ". . . 10311979-25L removed except for the original preliminary analysis, including all footprints. Also, please reroute the request through one of the unused terminals just in case."

"_Working . . . "_

"I figured she would have been expired by now." the Lieutenant commented quietly, staring at the hologram.

"I suspect this will be her last year in service." She shrugged. "If this guy pans out, I'll no longer have a need for replacements anymore."

"_Process complete. Will there be anything else, Doctor?"_

"No. Thank you, Pandora."

With a flash and a whisper, she dissolved into silver glitter and the crystal octagon was dark once again.

She turned her attention back to Shepherd. "Has it been repaired?"

"Yes. Seven hours and 43 minutes." He rose from his chair, ready to leave. "All that's left is for you to work your . . . magic." Something in him had wanted to say Voodoo, but he didn't know precisely one way or the other.

"Excellent. You've done such a good job, I'd like to extend an invitation for your assistance, if you'd like."

"To watch you work? Absolutely. How's three days from now?"

She thought for only a moment before nodding. "Sounds good to me."

With a smile and wink, he was out the door, and she was left to her own thoughts.

Three days, and she would finally prove all those cynics, who believed that a human brain wasn't a viable choice, wrong. Three days, and her life's work could very well end up as more than just a theory, and she would turn modern science on its ear.

Three days, and she would finally know who this long dead, immaculate genius was, and she would see just what he was made of.


	3. Memories of Light

. . .

* * *

**Memories of Light**

* * *

Shepherd sat across the archaic table from her in a dim-lit twentieth century eatery. They'd had several eras to choose from, but Shep had an affinity for what historians called the _Golden Years_ from the 1950s, so they'd ended up here for their dinner.

Not that 'here' was anywhere different from where they had always been. The facilities they both worked in, and this restaurant, were all a part of a larger military installation which in turn belonged to an even larger collection of humanity's efforts.

A synthetic sphere roughly one-fourth the size of Earth that orbited that planet was home to approximately 3.2 million people for the time being. Owned and operated by the Military Science Intelligence agency, most of its inhabitants were specialists, researchers, and ranking officers whose presence was meant to support those civilians. Security tasks, and all other mundane routines, were coordinated by highly specialized AIs, designed for the purpose of handling the grunt-work without the grunt-attitude.

This man-made 'planet' was one of the few still allowed to maintain such a close distance to Earth. Hidden within its precisely controlled atmosphere were some of humanity's greatest secrets, and it was on this very soil that some of humanity's most prized realizations came to fruition. The discovery of Light as having the ability to store vast amounts of data, the manipulation of dark energy in order to travel great distances in space, and even the realization that both forms of energy could be combined and stabilized.

All in all, humanity was doing quite well for itself in terms of technology. But still ever greedy, the limits of its ingenuity knew no bounds. And thus, this orbiting body remained dedicated to people like Dr. Vey Shallin who sought to push those limits beyond possibility.

With a Doctorate in Engineering, and impressive research under her belt, she'd been one of the few chosen straight out of her studies to come here. Arriving with an untainted outlook and a wealth of new ideas, she'd climbed the ladder of success and established a respectable reputation within only a few short years. But that reputation hadn't remained untarnished for long, thanks to her habit of disregarding orders and doing just whatever the hell she wanted, and her fall from grace had come just as quickly as success had.

Which was fine with her. Without the community breathing down her neck about the questionable ethics or futility of her studies, she'd finally been given the isolation from those incompetent old badgers that she'd always wanted. And by age 25 – almost two years ago – she'd effectively ruined her career with the beginnings of decidedly darker research. Weapons research no longer interested her . . . _human_ research, on the other hand, began to fascinate the engineer within.

Suddenly, her rivals were no longer complaining to her, but instead had collectively agreed to appeal to High Command about her antics. They'd whined about her use of human subjects, her deviant exploitation of previous genetic research, and her apparent disrespect for authority. And HIGHCOM had listened, making the decision to stuff her in one of the dark corners of MSI along with her work, keeping her around but away from public scrutiny. Then she'd met the Admiral, and luckily for her he'd had an eye for unconventional brilliance.

It was thanks to him that she'd made it thus far, and she could only hope that this project of hers would become a testament to his legacy of command . . . a parting gift in return for his belief in her.

"This is . . . unsettling." Shepherd commented quietly as he perused the notes on her work she'd brought for him.

"How so?" she asked curiously, pushing the plate of leftover synthetic food away from her.

"I'm not sure, exactly. There's just something about your use of a human brain in this context that worries me a little." He flipped the page, going over her sloppily written mathematical equations in black ink on the paper. Paper? It was so archaic, but she insisted it was the safest way.

She blew a puff of air out of compressed lips. "What difference does it make? They were all already dead anyway . . . maybe that's the problem. I might have better success with living brains, you think?"

He raised disturbed eyes to the woman sitting across from him.

"It was a _joke_, Lieutenant."

"I'd hoped so." He returned to his examination, making sure to note every single detail of something that not many others got a chance to see. "Wait," his brow furrowed in concentration for a moment before pointing at something only he could see anyway. "You've got the same equation here, but you've added something that doesn't make any sense." He stared at the 'M' scribbled into the end of one string. She'd added it as a part of the equation, but it didn't mean anything. It could have been a picture of an elephant for all it mattered.

"The 'M', right?" He nodded. "It stands for _memories_."

"Memories?" he asked, giving her a confused expression.

She smiled in response. "You're asking for an explanation to something I'm not sure I can explain. You can tell, from those notes, that all previous subjects were disasters. For some reason that I can't pinpoint, they accelerate into rampancy – a self-destructing process that usually takes weeks – within a span of only a few hours. I've tried all other variables – different psychological profiles, both male and female, old and young, even less than brilliant subjects – and the only one remaining that I can see is the inclusion of memories. It's nonsense, with no logical basis. But I have a funny feeling it might work. Even if it doesn't," she shrugged offhandedly. "It's going to make for a _very_ interesting experiment."

Shepherd gazed oddly at her for a longer time than was necessary, his mind attempting to grasp at just what she was trying to do.

"The ethics of that–"

"Are irrelevant. The man is dead, Shep. He ceased to exist a long time ago, and now only remains as a slab of meat sitting in your lab that would have been destroyed anyway. So again, what difference does it make?"

"Death is a subjective term, Doctor. If you, by some freak occurrence, manage to succeed at this, you'll have reversed that process. For all intents and purposes, he'll be a living, fully aware entity."

"Living is also subjective. I could understand if I had a body, or I were working with a living brain. But that's not the case. This guy had his chance, and it's been spent. As far as I'm concerned, anything after that is bonus material."

The Lieutenant rested an elbow on the table, and used the attached hand to poke at his forehead in frustration. "The brain is all that matters, and you _know_ that. He might not qualify as a living, biological organism anymore, but he'll have his humanity . . . and that disqualifies your right to do whatever you want with him."

To his surprise, she grinned sheepishly at him. "I know, but I thought I'd try and convince you anyway. Believe me, I understand and even share your concerns. But I think the pros far outweigh the cons here. If not, then it's as simple as 'pulling the plug' so to speak, and he'll be just as he has been for the past two centuries. No harm, no foul."

Shep sighed. He knew it was no use arguing with her, and he really had no intention of changing his mind about this. He just wanted to make sure she understood the implications of playing with human subjects.

"But if this works," she continued. "Can you even imagine what could be accomplished? The AI we have now does well enough, but they are still susceptible to human error because they have no judgment of their own. No moral or ethical basis for their decisions. But given the creativity and the true understanding of knowledge that only we as human beings possess . . . well, if combined with superhuman capabilities . . ."

She trailed off before suspending an open hand in front of her, leaving the last of her speech to his interpretation.

"You're insane, you know. Brilliant, but insane." He drained the last of his water before moving to leave. "And I suppose that's why I like you. You're entertaining, at least."

Vey followed, anxious to get back to the lab and begin. It was already nightfall, and she'd wanted to start almost an hour ago. But Shep had insisted on eating now if they were going to pull an all-nighter with this brain of hers.

And an all-nighter it would be, if the results from its analysis meant anything. After taking the time to go over them, she'd understood completely why Shep had went a little bonkers.

Unlike a typical human brain, whose connections are usually limited to a certain amount due to pruning, _this_ brain had an unusual abundance of them. Vey had heard of only a few other cases in all of history in which the brain had, for reasons unknown, re-used connections instead of destroying them. Under normal conditions, the brain will attempt to keep a stable amount of neurons present at all times. During Neurogenesis or the growth of new cells, old ones are killed off. It was a matter of resources . . . of making sure there were never more nerve cells than could be adequately sustained, which would result in a hostile environment of competition. While some competition remained between neurons, it wasn't overbearing to the point of affecting the organism's survival.

But apparently, there had been plenty of resources for this one, and thus no need to eliminate older ones in exchange for the new. With _so_ many branches, it would take longer than necessary to map all of them – probably all night and some of the next day.

She wondered briefly at what the living result had been of such an anomaly. Why had such an advanced life-form only made it through a quarter of its life span? Why had he been nameless – coming to them as an unknown? What did he look like, and what had he achieved with such ability? Had he propagated? Were there more like him?

She had so many questions, and so much time away from being able to ask them, if asking them would even be possible. Running his genetic material through several databases had turned up nothing, so the only possible answers would come from him.

_If_ he made it, that is. And as much inexplicable faith as she had in this 3.8 pound mass, it was still a big 'if'. Sure, it worked perfectly in theory. But when applied to reality, things just fell apart for no apparent reason. There were no mistakes in her mathematics, or her procedure. So what was it, then, that caused her subjects to just up and go off the deep-end before shutting down completely? Stress? Being stripped of their humanity? Data overload? Maybe it was a combination of all three, and the fact that the subject needed 'off-the-charts' cognitive ability to survive?

Like _10311979-25L _had? Perfection had certainly been the word for it, but would that make it better . . . or worse?

Luck. That's the reason that had been churning around her head for the past two days. Not that it made any sense . . .luck was just another whimsical thing thought up by the bored, much like fate or destiny.

Had it been fate, or luck, or whatever that he'd ended up being put on death row? It's not like scanning errors were all that uncommon – especially regarding those older ones. Hence Shep's job of rescanning the inmates on the Mind Mile before their execution just to make sure the baby wasn't going out with the bath water.

Vey silently thanked those Fates that the Lieutenant actually cared about his work, and did his job properly. She'd been to other facilities where the caretakers just threw heaps of brain in without a second thought of _who_ they were actually incinerating. It was cruel enough to destroy them in the first place, when they'd been preserved for one reason or another. Not bothering to double check and record who went just added insult to injury. If it had to be done – which it did if they remained unclaimed or were of no use to science – then at least be thorough and decent about it.

Not that she had any business telling anyone what was decent, given her own use of them.

She smiled as she walked behind Shepherd.

She was under no disillusion about her trampling of the Ethical code Shep adhered so strongly too. One day, she'd stop rationalizing her decisions, wrap herself in a cocoon of misery and regret, and emerge as a bleeding heart ready to atone for her sins. But not right now, when she had work to do.

What had she been rambling on about? Ahhhh. _Luck_. So whose was it, his or hers? Was she lucky to have found such a unique specimen when the higher ups had made damn sure that she remained low on the waiting lists for something nowhere near as flawless as this one? Or was he lucky to have been found and granted such an opportunity when he'd been mislabeled as sub-par and scheduled for demolition? Or, was it simply coincidence that Shepherd had found a two-century old brain that had just happened to have been stored away in some aging private facility for no reason at all; coincidence that it had haphazardly made its way here to this sorting facility, and then to Shep's Mile as an undesirable?

Vey looked up at the bowling-ball sized version of Earth, with her blues and greens, illuminated in the night sky. All the way from there to this very installation, when there were several others it could have ended up at?

* * *

"Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be." she replied before he popped the seal.

The blue fluid used to preserve the mass had been drained, and now all that remained within the glass housing was a hunk of wet, grey matter. Once a vibrant red color, it was now pale and bloodless. Vey could feel the firm, slick consistency of it beneath her gloved fingers as she reached into the sphere to remove it. It was chilly, and it looked and felt like over processed bologna. Maybe it tasted like bologna, too.

"There was a little freezer burn from its previous habitat, but nothing too bad." Shep commented as he looked over it from beside her. Satisfied, he motioned for her to deposit it within the chamber specifically designed to 'read' what lay within. The chamber itself was small, about the size of a beach ball, and perfectly spherical. Made of a highly reflective, metallic-white titanium, it resembled a large bead of mercury.

"B."

The single letter uttered initiated the warming of upside down crystal pedestals set within the low ceiling. From one of them sprang forth a white-hot ray of sunlight that produced a miniature, holographic version of a brilliant star. B, or Blind Radiance, hovered only a few feet above them within the center of the laboratory, his tiny eruptions of flaming energy making small hissing sounds.

"_Yes, Doctor_?" a disembodied voice replied.

"Open the casket and initiate protocol Heterodyne."

"_Security lockout removed_." They watched as the sphere chamber lowered to eye-level, and one side of it slid away to a reveal molded impression within.

"Good luck," she whispered to the remains held in both hands before placing it inside and settling it in the concaved alloy. "You'll need it."

"_Ready_ _for action, Doctor_?"

"Yes, B. Proceed." She'd always liked B, and his sometimes humorous attempts at emulating human speech. But even he would soon find himself out of service, his limited life span giving way to an abrupt end. Such was the fate of almost all AI entities, including the most advanced. And because they were so integrated in many aspects of human life, it always hit those closest to them as if losing a pet, or a good friend.

She watched as the chamber again became impenetrable, and was then retracted back upwards by the hazy blue gravitational field surrounding it. Up it went, slowly, until it disappeared into the much larger contraption that remained hidden behind four walls and the ceiling. The process was something they couldn't intimately watch without burning their retinas out. The use of intense Light energy made it impossible for human eyes to observe, even through a video feed.

This Light would be sent in bursts throughout the brain, saturating all pathways and cells previously reanimated by electrical pulses. The sphere design was ideal in that it could emanate the energy towards the brain at an equal intensity from all sides, piercing through the matter to simultaneously come to the point of origin, or the brain's center. This would happen millions of times – with each a small nanometer turn of the brain. Similar to a molding process, the energy would copy everything it comes into contact with. The layout of the pathways, the size of the branches, and all data contained within – memories, thoughts, even that which had no name or definition.

With each burst, fragments of information would be replicated and then inscribed into a synthetic neural network – a tiny, superconducting copy of the human brain's structure made almost entirely of pure energy. The result would be a small chip that could fit into the palm of one's hand with the now data-ridden energy enclosed within.

"_Doctor–_"

"I know. I'm going."

She stepped back and made her way towards the door to join Shep in the adjoining observation room. There, they would monitor progress and watch simplified representations of the read/write, fragment/defragment process.

"So what now?" Shep asked when she took the seat beside him, a little awe-struck.

"We watch, and we wait, and we cross our fingers and hope like hell that this works."


	4. I Am L

**Tunes: **

_Dread Intrusion_ ;) (Can be frightening. This chapter was born almost entirely from this track, second to second, which I'm sure you'll discover if you listen and read simultaneously.)

_Mausoleum Suite _

_Ancient Machine_

Don't own Death Note

* * *

**I Am L**

* * *

He registered pain . . . what should have been colossal amounts of it. But there was no feeling attached to the information – only the realization that it should have been there. He screamed, but no air left his lungs, and no sound reached his ears.

Some form of consciousness came in waves that began in a dull wakefulness, peaked in sharp awareness, and then receded again to nothing. He had the most curious sensation that some time had passed, but he had no way to determine how much.

**L**?

Images flashed before him in lightning fast bursts, like the channels of a television being flipped impossibly fast.

_Flash. _A flat-panel monitor. He could hear the gentle whirring of the unseen connecting unit . . .

_Flash._ City lights filled his vision as far as the eye could see. He could smell the sweet scent of coffee . . .

_Flash_. Someone was speaking to him in a hurried tone. He could make out the flecks of gold in clear, brown eyes . . .

_Flash. _Trees dancing in the wind. He could hear the quiet rustle of their fallen leaves swirling around on the concrete . . .

Puzzling. This was the oddest picture show he'd ever seen. Couldn't he just settle on one channel?

He could hear a distant hissing sound – a buzzing that seemed to accompany the fading of each image. He could sense tendrils of . . . _something_ probing through his mind, searching and examining. He felt a sickening sensation, as if something was being taken from him. But what? What was missing?

**L**?

_Flash._ He saw a coffin, the nauseating reek of roses assaulting his sense of smell . . .

_Flash_. Children screamed and played around him, their cries gnawing away at his nerves . . .

Suddenly, he felt an indescribable feeling of violation penetrate his awareness. These were his _memories_ floating before him, filling this vacuum with smells and tastes and sounds and tactile contact. He tried to recall them – any of them would do – but he found that he could not, as if they had faded away in a swirl of dissipating smoke.

Where was he? How did he get here? Was this some new trick by the enemy? Yes, that was it. The enemy. He would give them _nothing_!

He struggled to remember who the enemy was.

Something was sifting through him, looking and picking as a grave robber would loot a royal tomb. He could feel that he was being sucked into an ocean of fear, and powerlessness. The ship of Him had been destroyed, and now all that remain were pieces of wreckage – his memories – floating on the surface.

Desperately, he tried his best to gather the random pieces and fashion them into a patchwork raft – something he could cling to. He competed with this thing for those memories, fighting to reach these fragments of his life – the things that made him who he was – before they could be stripped away from him.

Something caught his eye . . . a fragment floating unprotected within the waves that gave him an overpowering sense of importance. The thieving Kraken before him rose from the water, intent on plucking that most important thing from his reach before he could grab onto it. But he was faster, clutching onto it and shoving it below deck to the bottom of his pile. A clue – something that would lead him back to what he had once been.

**. . . L**.

Yes, that was him, wasn't it? He couldn't let it take his identity.

His most important piece, and he guarded it jealously against his cognitive rapist while others were ripped from him and discarded.

A ball spinning through the air, the smell of freshly baked doughnuts, a crowd of people, the city lights of a night-covered Tokyo, tickets to a movie he couldn't remember, the concerned face of an old man, his own pale dark-eyed reflection. He let them go, sacrificing them for the one piece he felt he should protect with all his being.

**L Lawliet. Born 10-31-1979.**

**L Lawliet. Born 10-31-1979.**

He repeated it in his mind, over and over, as if that would safeguard it against this onslaught. He resisted, pushing against his attacker in an attempt to save what little was left, but his efforts were ineffective.

He felt it brush against him, it's bright tentacles prodding and poking at the letter he'd curled himself around. It pulled gently at it, and he tightened himself around it even more.

_No!_

He refused to let go, and it recoiled from him, moving to obtain easier targets.

He felt the soft, thin skin of an elderly man's hand on his arm. _Watari_.

**L Lawliet. Born . . . 10-31-1979.**

He could taste the sugary coating of his favorite dish.

**L Lawliet. Born 10-31-??**

He could hear the loud chiming of those bells. Had someone died?

**L Lawliet. Born . . . Born . . . **

He saw the face of a young boy before him. Light-kun? _Kira_!

**L . . . Lawliet?**

He watched as each recollection of his past was analyzed, and then taken away. And all the while, he continued his mantra that seemed to become only more difficult with each stolen memory.

**L . . . !**

It was pulling at his most prized possession again, this time more anxious and demanding. There was nothing left but this, and it was done playing games.

**L . . . ?**

He could feel it slipping from his grasp, fading into oblivion despite his will to hang on.

**. . . ?**

He couldn't remember now. He heard a distant hissing sound, and wondered vaguely what it was? Why was he here, and why was here so dark? Something was nagging at him, as if he should be privy to something? He couldn't be sure . . .

Slowly, like the very tip of a doomed vessel still vainly struggling to remain afloat, the last of him was snatched away and he was plunged underneath the crashing waves of darkness.

**. . .**

**. . . **


	5. What Means What

I thought it best to try and explain a few terms and such before I went any further.

* * *

**Easter Eggs and other useless info that I put in for my own amusement**

Almost all numbers will either a) reference something in L's life, b) result in a 7, or c) result in a 25, L's death age. For instance, "Override Alpha 447-L28".

L for L, of course.

4+4+7+2+8 is **25**, L's death age.

25 is 2+5 is **7.**

**L **is the twelfth letter in the alphabet. 12+25 is **37**. 3+7 is **10**, L's birth month. See how retardedly _not _clever I am?

* * *

Names of AIs and their appearances are meaningful to their tasks.

Names of human characters are also meaningful, whether it's to the word in its original meaning (Shepherd) or a play on letters.

Nods to Death Note, and a few other universes.

* * *

**Neurogenesis** – the growth of brain cells, more or less.

**Ionization** – the manipulation of a molecule, usually via particle charge. A process commonly found in air purifiers so that dust will 'stick' to air molecules.

**Preliminary** **scan** – the most basic of information is obtained from the brain. The 'X-ray' of brain scanning, while the **in-depth** **analysis** is the 'MRI' of brain scanning.

**MSI** – Military Science Intelligence.

**Class XII, VII, etc.** – just some categorization terms I made up for levels of genius in regards to human brains.

**Cryo-prototype – **references our current use of cryo-storage to preserve bodies and brains. The Deep Freeze of human remains.

**Palm Reader** – kind of like those new Kindles at Amazon, or an advanced PDA.

**AI** – Artificial Intelligence. Intelligent machines, usually with the ability to act and appear very human.

**Archive AI – **the AI set with the task of record keeping, sorting, verifying, etc.

**Pandora** – in Greek myth, the first woman created by all the Gods. Opened a chest and released all evils. Only hope stayed inside.

**Hologram** – a life-like display created by light energy, lasers, etc.

**Holopad** – a device used to display the physical representation of an AI entity. Kind of like those novelty light stands – a round or square base that shoots lasers into a crystal brick set on top, illuminating whatever 3D picture is inside. I have one of dolphins on my desk, so I tried to describe that.

**Sentience** – Essentially, the ability of an entity to feel or experience what we commonly term as humanity or 'the human condition'.

**Point of Origin** – the perfect middle of a circle.

**Neural Network** – a group of brain cells, the neurons, branches, etc. Can be biological, or synthetic.

**Hibernaculum – a **place of hibernation for an animal, or a protective 'cocoon' for a plant against harsh conditions**.**

**Singularity** – a point in time in which machines or AI's can surpass human creative ability and improve upon themselves without human aid. Kind of like in Terminator, where Skynet has created all these machines to do it's bidding.

**Stasis** – in this context, a state of suspension or suspended animation.

* * *


	6. Hibernaculum

I don't own Death Note.

* * *

**Hibernaculum**

* * *

"_Doctor?"_

B brought the lights back up to 50 percent, and switched all monitors back on in the observation room. The two humans currently occupying his territory were both offline, one leaning on the desk and the other leaning back awkwardly in her chair.

"_. . . Doctor?"_ He tried again, his solar eruptions intensifying with the increased volume of his all too human voice.

Vey cracked an eye open, only able to see the golden color the AI's hologram splashed onto the white metal in front of her. "Yes, B. What is it?"

"_Your subject is at 96 percent completion. Elapsed time is 15 hours and 10 minutes. ETA is approximately 34 minutes and fluctuating."_

She brought her legs down from the desk, righting herself and rubbing at the pain in her neck. "Any anomalies?"

"_None, Doctor. It's been smooth sailing all the way."_

"Thank you. Please continue to monitor his progress."

"_Yes Ma'am."_

She heard the slight _swish _as the AI faded from the room, returning the ambient color back to sanitary white. She looked to Shepherd, his open-mouthed face attached to the metal of his pillow. He was such an adorable boy, with his soft brown eyes and muss of dark curls. Unlike her civilian clothing, he wore the standard issue pale blue jumpsuit, and that comical white lab coat he insisted on out of sheer nostalgia. If it weren't for the insignia littering his clothing, she would have never pegged him for the military type. Probably forced into it by his parents, or–

"Anything happen?"

She hadn't realized he'd opened his eyes. "So far, so good. Almost finished."

He raised his head and swiped a hand across his mouth to remove the little trickle of saliva that had escaped during his nap. "How long were we out?"

She tapped a fingernail against the touch-screen keyboard set within the steel in front of her, bringing up a detailed progress report. "The last I saw was 65 percent, so I'd guess about 5 hours or so."

He nodded, stretching and then settling down to go through the status reports on the monitor designated for his own side. He examined first the new construct, and then the original brain in half hour increments.

"An awful lot of activity went on around the 90 percent mark." he commented, looking at the charts.

"It's just residual. The electrical pulses sent throughout the brain are stronger then in order to check for errors." She reached over to tap his right knee. "Just as if you were to react to me hitting your knee with a hammer – the brain reacts in the same way to electrical stimuli. It's the electricity making him twitch, so to speak."

The Lieutenant wasn't sure he was convinced. What difference did it make where the electricity came from, the result was still the same wasn't it? Not that it mattered now anyway, given the current status of the brain.

"What are you going to do with the original?"

She leaned an elbow on the desktop, watching the monitors. "What's to be done with it? It's beyond repair, now." One of the drawbacks of the process . . . she hadn't figured out how to prevent the original tissue from being destroyed.

He shrugged. "I was just thinking maybe that's a decision he'd like to make."

She couldn't help but turn her head to look at him. "His decision? He's MSI property, Lieutenant. It's my project, and my decision. And I see no point in keeping a now defunct brain around as evidence."

"You're not even considering _Singularity_?"

"I haven't even gotten that far yet. All I'm worried about at the moment is whether this will even work, or not. Nevermind whether or not he'll be able to solve that problem." Which was a total lie. She'd thought about it, but had decided it best not to get her hopes up.

"So don't you think you should wait to destroy anything, at least until we see how this ends? If a solution is possible, I think it would certainly be him who figures it out."

Vey noted his use of 'we' in reference to _her_ project. Not that she minded – if it weren't for him they wouldn't even be here discussing it, and she liked the company of someone so interested in her work. It was just . . . odd to hear.

"You're getting ahead of yourself. The chances of success are slim, and you've already got him rebuilding matrices." She sighed. "We will discuss this later, if you'd like, and I'll hold off on any irreversible action if it makes you feel better about it."

He gave her a little thankful smile. "It does. You might not have faith, but I do."

She let it drop. There was a difference between faith, and setting one's self up for disappointment. But let him handle it however he wanted.

She decided to sit in silence for the remaining 3 percent, and Shepherd followed suit. They sat still, watching digital representations of their progress, and prayed to no God in particular that their balloon of success didn't suddenly _pop_ on the home stretch. She didn't really expect it to, since it wasn't the transfer that gave her problems, but anything was possible given the unique circumstances of the brain.

It wouldn't be long now before she could rush him back to her office and 'wake' him up. What would the result of that be? Would she receive any kind of response at all, or would she end up with another dud? She'd gotten a few of those before, and after days of waiting had decided to scrap them. Some never woke up, and some woke up immediately. Those that did awaken would seem fine for a little while, and then quite suddenly they would supernova into madness. And that was always tough to watch, because it was never pretty – in human beings or anything else.

She was staring off into space, lost in thought, when she felt Shepherd's hand on her arm. But before he could open his mouth, B materialized into the observation room.

"_Process complete, Doctor. Security lock disengaged."_

She heard the heavy click of the door that separated the two rooms unlocking, indicating it was safe to enter. Shep was out of his seat and through the door before she even stood up from her own. She shook her head, swearing that sometimes she thought he was more excited about the entire thing than she was. She joined him in standing in the center of the room, both of them craning their heads upwards in wait for the pod to appear.

After a few moments, it came into sight, and then lowered slowly down the grav field.

"It's not going to be a pile of goo, is it?"

"No. It'll look the same." she replied, watching it come to a halt and hover just below eye-level.

And to Shep's relief, it did look exactly the same, as if it had never been bombarded with massive amounts of intense energy for almost 16 hours. "Shell?"

"If you want to hang on to it, then yes." She watched as he removed the hunk of meat from the sphere and returned it to its glass home for the time being. He'd have it filled and resealed once they separated, but right now he wanted to see the other half of the process.

"So?" She'd moved to the east corner of the room, and he moved to join her.

"It's coming," she replied, staring at a small slit in one of the titanium panels. "It's being packaged and sealed."

He could hear what sounded like a sizzling sound, and the movement of machinery. And then, unexpectedly, it jutted halfway out like an old ZIP drive, and startled him. Pulling it free, she held it delicately between her thumb and forefinger, careful not to leave any fingerprints even though it didn't matter.

"Here," she held it out to him, but he only shook his head. She chuckled at him. "It's alright, Lieutenant. You won't hurt it."

He tentatively offered his palm out, and she dropped it unceremoniously into his hand. It was warm, the metal smooth. For the amount of data stored within it, it was such a tiny chip – taking up about as much space in his palm as an old silver dollar would. Although thin and fairly lightweight, it was well constructed and gave him the impression that it would take an enormous amount of pressure to damage it.

The rectangular bordering was a shiny gunmetal color, but the quarter sized circular hole in the middle was clear. Inside that hole, he could see what looked like moving, glowing strings all jumbled together in a loose yarn ball, creating a pool of brilliant, electric-blue light. It must have been that energy encased within its metal shell that created the warmth.

"It's . . . _beautiful_." There was no other way to describe it . . . like looking at an exploding blue star inside the palm of his hand.

"Isn't it?"

He handed it back to her. "What now?"

"Now," she closed her fingers around it. "I'm taking him back to my office and putting him in his new home. Coming?"

Shep shook his head. "No, I have to get this brain back in stasis." Which wouldn't take that long at all, but he really didn't want to go with her right now. If it died, he didn't want to be there to _see_ it, so he decided to wait that period of uncertainty out. "But I'll catch up later."

She understood. "Suit yourself." With a grin and a quick thank-you kiss to his cheek, she turned and hurried from the lab.

* * *

It was like Christmas, something that wasn't celebrated too much anymore, or one of those mini terrariums that you added water to and waited anxiously to see what would grow.

Vey hurried through the security checkpoints and practically ran to her office, her new toy clutched in her hand protectively. The door couldn't separate open fast enough, and finally she was home.

"Engage security lock."

Pandora fizzled into existence on her desktop, bathing the room in dim gold. "_Yes, Doctor_."

"And restrict all AI presence from this room - including yourself, Pandora."

"_That requires_–"

"Override Alpha 447-L28"

"_Restriction granted."_ she replied curtly before locking the door and blinking out abruptly. She always got testy about being locked out, and she always got over it.

Using the light given off from the chip in her hand, Vey navigated her way to the bookshelf and retrieved a crystal holopad similar to those installed all over the complex. The only difference was, this one remained as a standalone . . . isolated from all access in or out. It wasn't meant simply as a means of displaying an entity to interact with personally, it was meant to house and initiate one.

She set the object on her desktop, next to Pandora's crystal conduit that was built into the wood. Circular with a silver base, it was a bit larger than all others due in part because it had to perform more tasks than simply creating a hologram. As wide as a pancake, and only a few inches tall, it was a custom job meant for this specific purpose.

She took a seat in her chair, and forced herself to relax. She hadn't the slightest idea where all this excitement was coming from . . . she was expecting failure, wasn't she? So the guy had been smart, and she'd let him keep his memories. Big fucking whoop. She didn't really believe for a second that either of those factors would make much difference, did she?

She didn't know, and before she had time to think about it any further or lose her nerve, she picked up the chip and lined it up with the similar slot to which it had poked out of set in the front of the base. The device inhaled it, something that always made her jump just a bit, and that was that. Vey audibly exhaled the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, glad it was out of her hands, both literally and figuratively.

Reaching over, she tapped a few commands on the monitor angled on her desktop and brought up the coding for this one. She wanted quick access to the fail-safe just in case, although the standalone unit protected against any catastrophe that could result from an unstable entity. Really, it was just good business to keep them away from anything whether they went mad or not. One does not allow a toddler drive a vehicle, after all.

Allowing herself one final task before settling down, she reached over the arm of her chair and retrieved a long abandoned cup of coffee sitting on the floor half full. Giving it a smell, and swirling the black contents to check for any foreign objects, she downed the cold liquid in three gulps. Then, she raised herself in the chair to a cross-legged sitting position, and waited in the darkness of her windowless, corner office.

And waited.

And . . . waited.

And finally, after 3 hours, 34 minutes, and 22 seconds, she lowered her head onto crossed arms, and labeled it a dud. _Goddamn_ it all - what a waste of a perfectly good crystal chip, and a perfectly _fantastic _brain. She sighed loudly, frustrated and oddly disappointed even though she'd expected failure in the first place.

But not _this _kind of failure. No, she had never expected things to progress perfectly, but she _had _looked forward to at least a little bit of progress. Maybe a slightly longer life span, or a new behavior. But to be met with absolutely nothing, even with such an outstanding subject, when usually there was at least some kind of sign after about an hour, whether it was a full awakening, or–

The crystal pad warmed, and fiery blue molecules swirled to life in the air a few inches above it. They drifted upwards slowly, and as they rose, more of them flickered to life from the base to follow their predecessors. Two became four, four became eight, eight became sixteen; and they continued multiplying and rising from the darkness, like a string of ice blue pearls being pulled from a sea of oil.

As they increased in quantity, they decreased in size . . . swirling about in a vibrant azure sandstorm of Light before fusing together in a vision that words failed. The result was a blue flame that spewed a waterfall of fat, similar colored globules of lava before sputtering out and forming a fourteen inch tall, blazing exclamation mark.

Vey had seen this behavior only once before with a female subject who had displayed a red infinity symbol for less than an hour, awoken, and promptly died. Her now blue brow furrowed in worry as she stared at the symbol that now took on the pattern of illuminating brightly for a moment before dulling, and then brightening again.

She'd been a little unsure of the blue at first, but now she found herself curious about it. There was always a reason for their choice of displays. She wondered what form this one would take on, and then mentally slapped herself for doing exactly what she'd accused Shep of - getting ahead of herself.

Light shifted in the dark air again, the exclamation mark morphing into a similarly displayed question mark. This was new territory, and Vey really couldn't say what they meant. Surprise, maybe, and then . . . what? Curiosity? A specific inquiry? Maybe just a state of uncertainty, or an indicator that he was gathering and processing information regarding his circumstances?

Well, whatever it was, there was nothing _she_ could do about it. He would hibernate for as long as he needed, and she decided it best to do the same while she had the opportunity. She had no real control over what happened anyway, and a light sleep couldn't hurt. Closing her eyes, she turned her head away from the bright, pulsating blue on her desktop, and slept.


	7. From Brain to Butterfly

. . .

* * *

**From Brain to Butterfly**

* * *

Dr. Shallin walked along one of the many concrete walkways that spidered throughout the entire installation. The facilities it connected were all pieces of the same steel-reinforced puzzle of low-rise rectangle, square, and L-shaped buildings. Most of them had their guts underground, save for the few reserved for non-essential functions such as socializing, entertainment, or consumption.

Life for those who occupied this compound wasn't meant to be enjoyed. The many restaurants, hotels, and novelty shops weren't meant for her to shop or eat in, just as the trees and the exotic plant life that dotted the network of concrete weren't meant for her to appreciate. All extras – those staples of life back on Earth – were for the benefit of the press, visitors, and tourists. Pure PR, and nothing else.

Vey stopped at one corner of the walkway, halfway back to her office from her personal quarters. And just as she always did, she reached out to one of the small bushes and picked off a lavender-colored flower. Bringing it up to her nose, she inhaled deeply – enjoying the small gesture of disobedience and the tangy scent of victory – before discarding the now dying flower onto the grass below. _Take that_ she thought with a smug smile before continuing on to the complex she worked in. If she couldn't kill them for failing to appreciate her and for burying her, then she'd kill their stupid, colorful facades of 'giving a damn' . . . one flower at a time.

"_I shall do no harm_." She recited the catchphrase, waiting for the results of her scans, and then continued on passed the checkpoint towards the elevator.

She found Shepherd waiting for her outside her door - leaning against the wall with his head down, tapping away at the lighted symbols on his clipboard. He'd forgotten to comb his hair again, and the dark curls looked as though they were attempting to escape from his head. At the sound of her heels, he looked up and watched the rest of her approach. With an elaborate working of the keypad next to the door jam, the door separated from the middle and granted them entrance.

"You actually slept in your personal quarters?" he asked, collapsing into the guest chair across the desk from her own like some mutated starfish.

"I only went to the showers and changed clothes."

He noted the portable gel bedding set up in one far corner of the room as she spoke, the remnants of several cups of coffee littering the floor around it. He watched as she bent down to pick one up, checked to make sure it hadn't gone bad, and downed it. With a grimace, he slid his gaze to the object he'd come to check on sitting on her desktop.

"It's been like that for past two days. Question mark, exclamation mark. Question mark, exclamation mark." Now that the novelty of it had worn off, she was just plain frustrated, and ready to toss the thing she stared at as she lowered into her chair.

Shepherd sighed. "I had hoped things would have went one way or the other by now. I didn't really want to witness anything . . . well, you know."

She nodded slowly, her concentration remaining on the two data chips she snow played with in her hands as if they were some kind of archaic deck of cards. Scrap it? Keep it? Force it? She knew she had to choose _something_ eventually, and remove that AI restriction on her office before anyone came poking around in person. Or if, God forbid, someone from HIGHCOM had to override a breakthrough. Her NCO security clearance went as high as Vice Admiral, courtesy of her deceased benefactor, so only an Admiral would be able to lift the restriction. And if an Admiral has to do it, you're in serious trouble.

"What's he _doing_ in there?" Shep whined as he sat up to toss his clipboard on the glass-covered synthetic wood that separated them.

"He might not be doing anything. It could just be a repeating error. There's nothing wrong with the code from what I can see, but that doesn't mean anything." She'd left the holographic display interfaced with her personal computer so she could watch the mathematical workings going on inside in hopes of catching something out of place, but there was nothing wrong with the code.

Shep, ever the optimist, snorted. "Maybe he's just a late bloomer."

Vey shrugged, not bothering to look up. "Or maybe he's not going to bloom at all."

Standing up, the Lieutenant took one last look at the display before heading to the door. "I've got some work to do, but I'll touch base a little later."

Vey raised a hand to wave him off, lowering it when she heard the whisper of the door closing behind him. Without her AI, she had to tap commands into her screen to lock the door manually. After several minutes of staring at her botched attempt at greatness, she made a disgusted sound and left her chair. After making her way to her sleeping corner, she touched a small keypad attached to her gel bed and brought the gel's temperature to a cozy 79 degrees. Settling in and turning to her side, she closed her eyes.

* * *

Consciousness seemed to haze in, awareness trickling into him like a small stream making its first venture into a long dry cavern. He felt muzzy – his thoughts blurry and scattered like pieces of a puzzle that had been turned upside down.

The first thing he noticed through this curtain of wakeful twilight was the absence of hunger pangs that always accompanied his awakenings. He wasn't thirsty, and could detect no need to relieve himself. There was no stretching of atrophied limbs, or tight muscles. He felt no involuntary need to open his eyes, or listen for ambient sounds that would describe his surroundings to him.

But he did remember his previous excursion of the waking world that seemed like it had happened ages ago. And after a quick, frightful check, he determined that his memories were again present and intact. No, intact wasn't the word for it. They were gloriously . . . accessible? It was the oddest sensation . . . razor sharp, and of a precision he couldn't even begin to describe. What had once been uncertain, and sometimes unreliable, was now exact and almost tangible. Like he could decide upon a memory, and literally reach out and put his finger on it not a nanosecond after the decision was made.

It almost reminded him of the way in which a machine could retrieve data – quick as mercury and flawlessly accurate.

And it was upon the testing of this sudden, inexplicable ability that he realized there were other things present, too. Like an orchard of electrified trees, their branches surging with energy and exploding into a network of sapphire Light when he gave them his attention. Curiously, he sensed that he was somehow subconsciously aware of what was, or what should have been there. Most of them were bare . . . pristine and new. But a few of them within the forefront of his attention were a slightly purplish hue of blue, and he seemed to understand that the difference indicated the presence of information.

Suddenly, his inquisitiveness dissipated in the wake of intense panic. He felt something holding onto him, dragging him and making him heavy. Some . . . _other_ was clouding over him, a phantom presence that he couldn't comprehend.

_Subsystems active. Initiating full system diagnostic of life-support subroutines._

It wasn't something his senses had picked up. He hadn't heard it, or read it, or recalled it in memory. It was just _there_, as if it were a part of his cognitive capacity. But that didn't make him any less afraid – the realization only strengthened his conviction to distance himself from this new discovery.

And when he found that he could not escape from this unknown manner of trickery, his alarm increased to the point of being manic, and he blinked off abruptly back into the void.

* * *

Her eyes snapped opened, her brain wide awake. Vey wasn't sure if something had awoken her, or if it was merely the result of too much sleep. She stared at the false-marble paneling in front of her, her body turned towards the wall. Her brain lazily registered the play of distorted light on the shiny surface – white and blue moving across it like reflections from the play of light across water. But it wasn't this movement of light that triggered her realization . . .

It was the sound of a low, very human voice bouncing off of the unseen molecules that filled the room. She could make out mumbling – a deep, monotone of gibberish that seemed to repeat every five seconds or so. After hearing it a third time, and before she had time to think better of the action, Vey turned and rose to a sitting position, her eyes shooting toward what she hoped was the source of this new ambience. Her vision made contact just in time to see the last remnants of a dissolved image flutter away – casting her into darkness and silence – and she silently cursed herself for the abrupt movement.

With the precarious layout of her coffee cups memorized, Vey swung her legs over the edge and maneuvered herself away from the corner without incident. She reached for the switch of an ancient desk lamp and sat down in her chair.

She was tempted to make some snide comment about waiting him out, but thought better of it this time around. If his fleeing from her sudden movement was any indication, he was already on edge as it is. Best thing to do, she concluded, would be to wait quietly in a non-threatening manner.

Ignoring the holopad, she turned her attention to the screen in front of her and triggered the appearance of semisolid signs and symbols. She poked at them decisively, and studied the algorithm displayed on the screen. Tapping a few keys on the touchpad she preferred, she managed to make it through a few pages of data before being rewarded with more signs of life.

White blazed into the void, filling all the space it was capable of before a large, cloister-black 'L' was superimposed onto the background. Tiny strings of code scrolled down the letter in semi-translucent white, like snow flurries against a sheet of onyx. Static distorted the image slightly for only a moment before it calmed, and brightened. He repeated his gibberish clearer this time, albeit it almost shyly.

"Do you speak English?" She'd assumed he had, if he'd been stored in England.

The scrolling numbers paused, almost imperceptibly, before continuing their smooth descent down the beaming black. But he said nothing.

"Run full system diagnostic, please." Two cycles of silence before he responded in a steady, deep voice.

"_Code directory integrity . . . **okay**."_

"_Primary array . . . **okay**."_

"_Secondary array . . . **okay**."_

"_Life support subroutines . . . **okay**."_

"_Ethics subroutines . . **. okay**."_

"_Optical processing subroutines . . . **okay**."_

"_Interface . . . **primed and transmitting**."_

"_Thought Matrix . . . **optimal**."_

"_Algorithm cycling . . . **primed and ready**."_

"_Logistics center . . . **cycling within range**."_

"_Dynamic Memory Matrix . . . **insufficient data for**–"_

"That will do, thank you." She didn't need to hear anymore to know that the "software" had transferred over just fine. Which meant, exactly, shit. It wasn't that part that gave her problems . . . it was always the humanity part of them that failed.

Vey opened her mouth to speak when she happened to notice a blip on her screen – a small animated spiral in the upper right hand corner that indicated data was being streamed from an outside source.

"Well, aren't you quick on your feet." She gave a light chuckle before tapping a series of keys that terminated his interface with the machine. There was the new behavior she'd been hoping for – none of his forerunners had made it far enough to test their abilities, being too disturbed by their circumstances.

"So, would you like to tell me a little about yourself? Your name, perhaps, or how you feel?" Again, she received no response except for the slight pause in his scrolling. "Perhaps an explanation for your choice of display? A letter is a bit impersonal, don't you think? Maybe you should– "

"_No. No. No. No and no. That will do, thank you." _

He cut her off just as she had him, refused all her questions, and mocked her dismissal of his diagnostic process. And then, as if to say that he was finished with _her_ process, he snapped off in a flash.

Vey didn't know whether she should be amused, insulted, or both. She expected testiness, of course, but that didn't mean she had to like it. And she didn't like it – not the least little bit – because displays of anger such as this had resulted in only one way so far . . . madness. The only comfort she found was in the fact that he'd chosen to terminate communication when all the others had simply ranted and raved until melt down.

She waited for reinitiation for almost an hour, but all was quiet. Apparently she'd thoroughly pissed him off, and that was that. With a shrug, she locked down access to her machine's interface, and retrieved an old book from her antique collection. She had plenty of energy now, with the knowledge that he wasn't a dud after all, and decided to prop her feet up and wait him out.

* * *

**NCO** or **Noncom** - Non Commissioned Officer. A civilian. Rank can get pretty up there, but they remain under official ranks in the chain of command.

**HIGHCOM** - High Command, the brass, the big wigs, those in authority.

**Nanosecond **- one billionth of a second. If you see 'nano' attached to anything, it is incredibly small.

**Algorithm **- simplified, just a series of steps needed to solve or perform something.

**Interface **- a means in which machines communicate. Our current blue tooth technology would be a primitive type.

. . .


	8. Orpheus and Eurydice

I had this written yesterday, and it poofed on me. Most likely human error, but who knows. So here's what I can remember from the original.

I think the next will be in L's head, and that will probably take a bit longer to write. I, quite obviously, have no idea what it would be like to be resurrected in such a way, so I'm sure it's going to be rather difficult.

I don't own Death Note

* * *

**Orpheus and Eurydice**

* * *

Vey Shallin couldn't tell you what day it was, or sometimes even what month. What did it matter? Pandora kept her in check for her meetings and deadlines, so there was no point in wasting her own precious brain power on such mundane things.

But she could tell you that it had been exactly 7 hours and 31 minutes since she'd been shut out by her own creation. Seven hours and now thirty-two minutes since he'd had his little tantrum and then turtled back into his crystal shell.

And almost 18 minutes, 41 seconds, and 74 centiseconds since his last attempt at cracking the access code of her computer so he could re-link.

Vey hadn't moved from her spot, book in hand, since her decision to wait. She had to go to the bathroom in the _worst_ way, and she was dying for something to drink. One of those cups of old coffee piled in the corner of her office would solve both problems . . .

But she remained still, the only sounds coming from her presence were those of a page turning every so often. Cool and composed on the outside, inside she was bouncing off walls and screaming to the heavens.

He'd surpassed the current life-span record of 5 hours and 20 minutes set by her previous subjects.

And not only had he lived longer, he'd done so without spending at least a third of it collapsing in on himself. He'd had his outburst and hadn't uttered a single word since then, and she was glad. So glad, that she refused to move lest she shatter the fragile bubble of success she currently floated in.

Even better yet, he'd become active again after almost 3 hours of absence. His crystals had glowed, and he'd appeared on his crystal platform in the same form he'd left in – black 'L' with a white background. In response, Vey had lowered her book and watched him. And the second he'd noticed her noticing him, he'd fled once again. The next time he'd come around, she'd decided to pay him no mind and keep her attention downward in her lap. _That_ course of action had worked, and he'd seemed content to be out and about as long as she didn't scrutinize him. Vey didn't understand the rationality of it, and she didn't have to. This was his ball-game now . . . she was only a spectator taking space in the stands.

But that didn't stop her from stealing little glimpses of him out of the corner of her eye. She couldn't help it – the **Orpheus** in her _had_ to look, even at the cost of losing her dear **Eurydice** forever. If he'd noticed, he'd chosen to ignore them.

He'd spent a total of 46 minutes examining his surroundings, and testing his visual capabilities. She'd known what he was doing because his display had taken on the shape of several objects in her office that he'd taken interest in. The first had been one of her coffee cups from the corner that had come out a little misshapen, the black liquid spilling from the warped container. She'd had to stifle a giggle at that, wondering if he'd heard her. His next attempt had come out a little better – a small, outdated miniature of Earth encased within a glass cube. He'd even gotten the color coding and shape of the continents right, and had spun the planet for good measure. But whether that was from memory, or his magnification ability, she couldn't tell.

After a few more miscellaneous objects – a tiki **god**, an old **pen**, and a her digital **writing** pad – he'd gotten the hang of turning himself into perfect duplicates of the objects.

His last attempt had been, oddly enough, her . . . sitting in her chair with her book in her lap. She'd decided to give that her full attention, noting that he'd even replicated the reflections of himself in her glasses. After a moment, the holographic copy had raised its head, pinned her with her own eyes, and then had promptly dissolved into darkness. Evidently, he _had_ heard her, and had decided to rise to the perceived challenge.

After that session, Vey had checked her screen on a hunch – and sure enough, there'd been a logged attempt at re-establishing a connection. She'd said nothing, and had made no effort to disable his interface – if letting him play around with the encryption gave her opportunity to see him, then she saw no harm in it.

Now, every half hour, he would flash in and try again. After a minute or two of working, he'd fizzle out again in failure. When she couldn't see him, she assumed he was in there planning and plotting more strategies for his next battle with her machine. It was the most adorable thing she'd ever seen – like watching a child trying to walk for the first time – and it took all she had not to laugh at his behavior. Not in a mocking way, but in a happy, proud way. He was a feisty one, with no apparent regard for authority, and Vey _liked_ it.

With a grin plastered on her pale face, Vey turned another page and picked another word to stare at.

It seemed as though _this_ one was adjusting rather well to his new existence, more interested in gaining access to her computer than mulling over what was already done. If such behavior kept him sane, and alive, then she had no problem in allowing it. He could cope however he wanted to . . . just as long as he _coped_.

Vey just wished he would respond to her attempts at dialogue, or at least answer her questions. While she couldn't even begin to imagine what it must be like for him, she did understand that it was a grueling, mind-blowing experience that everything else paled in comparison to. How _does _one adapt to something like that? How does one even comprehend it?

Then she reminded herself that he'd most likely chosen to have himself preserved after death. So he'd expected this, hadn't he? Not that it made anything any easier, but–

The change of ambient lighting in her peripheral vision told her it was time for him to try again. She kept still, keeping her eyes planted on the hardback in her lap, and waited. After a minute or so, she heard what sounded like a little huff, and then the shade of white disappeared from the yellowed pages of her book. He'd failed again, and the poor thing either didn't realize or didn't care that he would continue to fail until she decided otherwise. Luckily for him, she had made the decision to give him what he wanted just as soon as she briefed Pandora and gave her back her access.

Well, if he continued to flourish and didn't all of a sudden crash and burn.

* * *

Pandora sat cross-legged on her pedestal, her hands rummaging around in the ornamental chest sitting in front of her. Looking up for a moment, she cast curious golden eyes towards the isolated pedestal located on the desktop a few inches from her own, where the newcomer resided. He was active, with that screwy 'L' image of his, but he ignored her completely. She'd tried several times to speak to him, asking him questions that seemed proper to ask a human, but he just continued to function as if she weren't there.

She returned her eyes to the inside of her chest. She didn't like being snubbed, not at all, and if she could she would stomp right over to his stupid holopad and kick it with her sandaled foot. But her physical access to it was limited, so she couldn't just waltz over there and flail her hands around in his display, no matter how much she wanted to.

The Doctor's orders had been clear – keep his existence a secret, monitor his access to her computer, and do _not_ incite him. For now, Pandora would follow the Doctor's orders. But if he ever made it out of that prison cell of his, she'd be sure to show him who was superior to whom.

The current task she was working on gave her a little bit of satisfaction, at least. She was to keep a close eye on him as he investigated the information available to him via his interface with the Doctor's computer. Personally, Pandora hated the thing – it wasn't necessary and only served to waste space – but these humans had the oddest quirk of keeping old, obsolete objects around, and they were usually adamant about it. So she'd stopped complaining about it a long time ago.

But now, she was almost enjoying her excavation of the dinosaur's internal workings as she watched this _half-breed _sift through what was there. It was with great pleasure that she plucked a certain piece of restricted information from his outgoing pile, and replaced it with a '**Restricted File: Access Denied**' marker. Each time, she would put a little grin on her face, and hope like hell that he saw it.

If he did, though, he made no acknowledgement of it. He just took his heap of data, processed it, and went back for another load . . . all without a word or gesture towards her.

She sighed, exhaling a bit of gold dust from her lips. What was his problem anyway? Did he think he was better than her because he was the 'new guy', or because he was human? Or was he just childishly acting out because of the task she'd been given of supervising his acquisition of information? He had to know that there were some things he wasn't allowed to see, so there was no reason to be immature about it. This _was_ her territory, after all. You don't just come into someone else's house and start telling _them_ what's what.

Well, you did if you were an ill-mannered little twerp with a sense of entitlement bigger than you are. Pandora huffed, pulling another few pieces of data fragments from his outbound cargo and putting more _nana-nana-boo-boo_ markers in their place. She wished silently that he'd really wanted those fragments, and that he was good and pissed about not getting them.

He was _so_ slow. Why didn't he just dive right in there and analyze on the fly? What purpose did it serve to mine the data and then bring it all the way back to his cell?

Pandora swore to herself that if she weren't so put off by him ignoring her, she'd get her hands dirty and show the simpleton how to extract data properly. Which reminded her . . .

"_Excuse me, Doctor_?"

The current conversation going on between Shep and Vey on the sofa ceased. "Yes?"

"_Have you decided who you would choose for this one?"_ Pandora detected the slightest pause in his gathering – he was listening.

"I was considering Ronin for the job."

The female AI scrunched her perfect face in disgust. _"Ronin?_" He was just what his name implied, a masterless AI with his sneaky little routines in everything. _"But he's so wild, Doctor. Are you sure that's prudent?" _Not that she cared, she just didn't like him.

"Maybe not the wisest choice, but I think he's the best candidate for the job. His knack for insurgency and counter-intrusion protocol is without peer, and he has the discretion I need since he doesn't report to anyone directly." The Doctor narrowed her eyes at the AI from across the room. "Why are you so concerned, Pandora? Would you like to volunteer?"

Her . . . with the half-breed? It was on the tip of her vocal conduit to say no when she noticed that _he'd_ paused his efforts completely, and now seemed to focus all of his attention on her answer. He was probably just as 'crazy' about the idea as she was.

"_I'd consider it." _She replied out of pure spite, a smile creeping onto her face when he abandoned his stream of information and snapped to darkness. Let him think the worst, and agonize over it for a while. Serves him right.

Pandora was about to vacate her presence in the Doctor's computer when he returned and re-established his link. She waited to see what he would pull, her 'fingers' just itching to snatch something away from him. She was almost tempted to seize data that wasn't even sensitive, just to revel in her authority over him and his endeavor. But he didn't appear to be pulling anything at the moment . . . he just was _there_, occupying space inside the relic like a bump on a log. She moved closer, toying with the idea of engaging him directly in the expanse of memory they currently shared.

She wouldn't _hurt_ him. No, of course not. He just needed a little lesson in proper manners, that's all. She'd be gentle.

She noticed it too late, only realizing that there was no identifying signature present when she probed what she'd thought was a routine of his. It was phantom code - a convincing, empty copy designed to trick any pursuers into wasting time analyzing it. Essentially, it was the toy mouse that would lead a tracking cat on a wild goose chase while the real mouse used the time to steal the now unguarded cheese.

Before that thought finished cycling, Pandora sensed the tiniest brush against her personal barrier. Immediately, she initiated a lock-down of all ports and then withdrew back to her point of entry. From there, she simultaneously began a system scan to determine whether or not he was still poking around, and conducted a quick visual check of his display. His pedestal came into view just as the last shadows of his letter fizzled out, leaving only empty space above the crystal stage. Nanoseconds later, the results from her scan confirmed that he'd terminated his connection and returned to his holding cell.

Pandora scrambled and then reactivated the restriction code on the machine, and then terminated her own link. Just as a precaution, she ran a quick security sweep of her own arrays to make sure there was nothing out of place.

Her attention back on her chest, she happened to notice a new piece of data present – a file in the form of a tightly coiled, multi-colored helix. Then she came upon the request she'd missed earlier, and traced it quickly.

The 'brush' against her barrier hadn't been a brush at all. It had been his return trip through the almost unnoticeable breach he'd managed to create in her shell, which she had foolishly not bothered to secure against the likes of him while inside that relic. She had never expected that he would know how to use the routing code from her restriction markers to trace his way back to her, or that he'd know how to piggyback data on her connection with the machine.

Pandora slammed the lid of her chest down, the sound garnering curious glances from the human occupants engaged in conversation.

So he was a clever little bastard. Who cares? Not her, and that was for damn sure. She didn't care a whit that some human hybrid had zeroed in on her carelessness and used it to give her a taste of her own medicine that wasn't even _hers_, but the Doctor's.

After several cycles of seething, curiosity got the best of her Thought Matrix, and Pandora grudgingly re-opened her chest to look at the file's contents. With a wave of her hand, the helix floated up and uncoiled itself in front of her.

And there, encased within, were all the tiny markers she'd put in place of data that he'd been refused - neatly positioned in such a way that told her, more or less, to _piss off_.

* * *

**Orpheus** – In Greek myth, he was a poet/musician of the finest sort. His wife, Eurydice, was tragically killed on their wedding day, and cast into the underworld. Orpheus charmed Hades with his music into allowing him to come and retrieve Eurydice, but only on one condition – he had to walk ahead of her and _never_ look back until they returned to the world of the living. But Orpheus looked back before making it into the Light . . . just in time to see her vanish forever.

**Helix** – a spiral . . . think of a tiny slinky, or a curly fry.


	9. When I Die, Will I See Heaven?

_ . . . _

. . .

* * *

**Tunes in Profile:**

_If I Just Could Be More Human_**  
**

* * *

**When I Die . . . Will I See Heaven???  
**

* * *

It had occurred to him . . .

. . . to die.

. . . to put an end to this existence that had been forced upon him.

. . . to implore that this creature he'd been turned into against his will be destroyed.

. . . to stop this continuum of sanity-ravaging suffering that saturated his moments of sentience.

He'd reawakened the first time with what could only be described as a _moment of clarity_. He'd been whole again, and briefly all had seemed right in the world. Then he'd lost his grip, fallen apart, and discovered it had been a cruel illusion.

Oh, it was still all there – every experience, thought, and memory that made him the man he was – but so much of it had been out of place, and wrong. A jumbled mess of debris floating around aimlessly in the vacuum of space. All he'd had left was the spool of him, its strings having been unraveled and cut, and the segments tossed around randomly.

Realization had smacked him in the face like a brick, and he'd cycled through so many responses. He'd wanted to ball up and weep despondently, he'd wanted to lash out and rage violently, and then he'd wanted nothing at all . . . so caught up in the tempest of devastation that he'd totally blanked.

Gravity had abandoned him, equilibrium had fled, and his feet no longer touched the ground. He couldn't even _see_ the ground anymore – he'd just flailed around in mid-air like a pong ball with no idea of which way was up.

And for the first time in his life, **L** had absolutely _lost_ it. He didn't even know how to describe it – berserk, raving mad, rampant – it didn't matter. All he knew was, for what seemed like an infinite amount of time, he'd wanted his existence to just _cease_. He'd had no idea why he'd been forsaken – the reasons were out _there_ floating around – he'd just wanted whoever was responsible to come and complete the job.

But he'd endured. Through the madness, the unspeakable anguish, and the merciless torture of his mind; he had steeled himself against the torment, crawled into the tiniest bit of sanity left undamaged in some dark corner of him, and had endured through it _all_.

L had curled himself into that sanctuary . . . clung to it desperately, and watched anxiously as broken fragments of him whizzed by the haven's entrance. And for a brief moment, fascination had taken over his little piece of consciousness still safe, and he'd looked on in wonder as the rest of him commenced into meltdown outside his cave. Like a swarm of frenzied bees, pieces of **L **had zipped and zoomed around like blurs of Light, out of control and sometimes colliding with one another in their crazed confusion.

And the sound. How does one describe the sound of an atom – with its outer cloud of his humanity serenely surrounding the turbulent nucleus of his rogue consciousness – in chaos? An explosion of buzzing, roaring, and booming.

Then had come the fear . . . like he'd _never_ known during his life. Devastatingly potent, it had coiled itself around him and impaled him with countless tendrils of nauseating, blind panic like some kind of Medusa of Terror. He'd been defenseless against it, and could do nothing to prevent it from settling in, and sharing the tiny space.

He remembered mumbling to himself, involuntarily chanting senseless words mixed with plaintive sobs. Thankfully, the sound of his own voice inside his head had worked to calm him a bit, reminding him that he was still whoever he _was_ even though that information was currently in turmoil.

But that turmoil had suddenly slowed, the fury of it all ebbing away. And just as quickly as it had come on, the whirlwind had departed, leaving only a gently swirling in its wake. He'd emerged from his hidey hole tentatively, unsure as to whether it had really passed, or if he'd only been in the eye of the storm.

His answer had come in the behavior of all those pieces. They'd hovered in suspended animation for only a moment before simultaneously converging towards him, their missing piece, with a speed beyond anything known to him. There'd been no time to scramble back into his cave, or to even consider doing so. The resulting fusion had been almost instantaneous – nothing more than a quick flurry of bright activity before the core of his being had been restored.

Just like that, it had been over. He'd been reborn, shiny and new, composed and sane. And with no other apparent option available, he'd turned his attention to the rest of his identity still drifting around his newly repaired nucleus. He'd hoped for a replay – an easy one-two step of fusion – with those thoughts and memories of his, but he'd had no such luck. There'd been no choice but to manually gather each fragment and painstakingly piece them back together into himself.

* * *

They'd been positioned based on time and date, in an order opposite of the way they'd come undone. The oldest of them had been closest to him while the newest of them had waited on the outer edge of the cloud for their owner. Many of them he'd forgotten – unimportant pieces of a scant personal life – and he'd enjoyed getting reacquainted, even with the miserable ones.

He came upon each one, took it within himself, and analyzed it before tucking it away where it belonged. Like a picture book, or a movie, he relived the five senses of his entire life in chronological order.

His first day on his own, and the apprehension he'd felt. His first brush with the law, for stealing. His first confection, given to him by a plump shop owner, and the resulting lifelong love affair.

His first night in solitary confinement for refusing to cooperate with the staff of the juvenile detention center he'd landed in.

His first encounter with Quillsh, and his subsequent arrival at the orphanage. His first fight with one of the children there – a red-haired girl he'd strong-armed into a closet for biting him. His first pummeling, from the girl's much bigger older brother. His first act of revenge - when he'd snuck into that boy's room one night, shaken a cup of fire ants, and dumped them onto his sleeping form.

His first case, and the exhilaration he'd felt at the challenge of it.

The warm tingling of his first kiss. The mortification at his first wet dream. The pride of winning the tennis championship. The hurt of rejection by those he'd tried to relate to. The sense of loneliness he'd grown accustomed to, and its accompanying desolation he'd learned to love. The smell of fresh snow, and the way it felt on his skin. The alarmed expression on Watari's face, when he'd first taught him how to fly. His first time discharging a firearm, and the involuntary blink he couldn't help.

His Sixteenth birthday, and his first successful attempt at making his own cake.

The trial and error process of learning to tie cherry stems in his mouth, and the resulting tongue cramps. His first conscious effort at orgasm, and the resulting headache because he'd stood up too fast. The excruciating pain of spilling a full cup of scalding coffee in his lap, and his inability to walk for days. His first violent tantrum, and the satisfying sound of plastic breaking beneath his fists. His first solo drive, and the huge cue cards he'd made to tell people exactly what he thought of their driving.

His Eighteenth birthday, and the sobering realization that he had no one his age to celebrate with.

The acquisition of Eraldo Coil's detective code, and his position of the world's top three detectives. His first encounter with being _stir crazy_, and the extensive damage to the hotel room he'd had to pay for. His capture of Aiber, and the decision he'd made to use the man. The unease he'd felt at looking into the mirror; noting he was no longer an odd little boy, but a downright creepy grown man. His consideration of having his eyes checked, and the decision that he'd liked the emptiness of the abnormal dilation.

His Twenty-First birthday.

His conflict with B, and the partial responsibility he'd felt for the boy's circumstances. His working with Naomi, and the happiness he'd felt throughout their Capoeira play during his lessons. His first and last vacation, and not knowing what to _do_ with himself. The stress of interacting with others, and the comfort of the silent isolation he always sought out afterwards.

His first notice of the inexplicable pattern of heart attacks among criminals, and his initial refusal to believe it as anything more than a fluke. His decision to test it anyway, and the complete shock he'd felt at watching his stand-in keel over.

His first time meeting anyone as 'L' instead of pretending to be some other personality, and the self-consciousness he'd experienced when they'd looked at him as if he belonged in a circus. The excitement he'd felt when 'Kira' had proven to be of above average intelligence, and thus worthy of his time.

That familiar molting of his humanity to immerse himself in his work, and the welcome numbness that enveloped him.

His introduction to Yagami Light, and his confusion at how anyone could be so _perfect_ and yet so tainted with evil.

The anger he'd felt when his suspect had tried to wriggle his way out of his fingers like the worm he was . . . think he _might_ be Kira? Who was the boy trying to fool?

The imprisonment of both suspects, and the boy's unfortunate father. His pitiful attempt at trying to comfort the older Yagami, and his surprise at the man's adamant response. His last ditch effort at trying to get evidence on the boy before going back to square one, and the tormenting failure he'd been met with.

The uncomfortable feeling of binding steel around his wrist, and the countless times he'd stood over his sleeping companion with a pillow in his hands.

His first vision of the undead creature, and the transformation of Light that he couldn't fully comprehend. His sudden understanding that there was more than one murdering notebook, and the fleeting sense of being overwhelmed. The overpowering need to disappear to safety and regroup, and the childish notion of refusing to lose that stayed him. That aching stab of horror when Watari had failed to respond, and the wrath he'd felt boiling in his blood when he'd _known_ that Yagami Light had manipulated the Shinigami into murdering his handler.

His hesitation at going any further in this tragic story, and the conviction that drove him towards the rest of the tale.

The sudden _stop_ of his just-turned-twenty-five year old heart, and the thought that he probably should have done something besides sit around and work six days earlier. The regret that he had been unable to finish his Last Supper before his Judas had served him up to sacrifice. The sickening sensation of his murderer's warm hands touching his soon-to-be cold body, and the look of manic glee in the boy's hateful eyes at being able to do it with no obvious protest from him.

The replay of his last dream in vivid watercolor – the screaming of children, a vision of sunlight shining through long-dead tree branches, his own young shadow cast upon the orphanage's garden of colorful daises – and the accompanying sound of that tolling bell's gear work.

His silently whispered apology to the world for allowing this well-disguised Daemon to escape its chains, and his last wish that his successors recapture the beast before it corrupts all.

The brief glimpse he caught of his reflection in that fiend's gleaming gaze, and the brilliant grey he saw there whose luminescence was no longer hidden by the abnormal black.

His final, mortal decision to close his _own_ eyes and take what was coming to him with all the dignity that even the most _noble _of men couldn't muster in their closing moment.

The pain of his bony body lying against the hard tile, the sounds of commotion coming from the frantic task force, the sensation that he was being shaken as an afterthought . . .

And then, nothing at all.

* * *

**Molting** – the manner in which an animal routinely casts off a part of its body (often but not always an outer layer or covering), either at specific times of year, or at specific points in its life-cycle.

**Judas – **the alleged betrayer of Jesus Christ. I was conflicted about using him the context of 'betrayer' since recent evidence has more or less vindicated him.


	10. With Wings

. . .

* * *

He looked dead. Not zombie-dead, but just-pulled-out-of-the-morgue-dead.

* * *

**. . . With Wings**

* * *

L had spent a considerable amount of time going over the last day of his mortal life. The day he'd lost Watari to that pathetic, _wretched_ child who'd been granted the ability to murder with the stroke of a pen.

He saw what his mistake had been . . . where he'd gone wrong. He'd underestimated the Shinigami, and misjudged the limits to which they could meddle in human affairs.

To think, that boy hadn't even had the civility to murder L himself, but instead had tricked a _real_ God into doing the deed. His opponent's rage had left no room for respect.

_Unforgivable_, Yagami Light.

If he had lived instead of being smote down by the boy's pet Shinigami, the Yagami boy would _not_ have been so lucky. Maybe then he couldn't say with certainty that he would have killed him. But now, with all the stress of what he'd been put through, L was sure that he would have enjoyed wrapping his stringy fingers around that fiend's throat. He would have made it his mission to watch the boy's life force slowly wither away from his eyes, just as had been done to him. Inhuman bastard.

He didn't have to play at being human anymore, so yes . . . he would've had no qualms about it, and he would have savored every splendid second of it. Oh, he'd worn the clothes of humanity well enough back then – emulating and blending in with others convincingly – but as hard as he'd tried, they had never fit quite right. It was the emotional aspect that he could never pull off – an important part of being human that had just not come to him. And that included remorse, or guilt.

Watari. He hadn't even had time enough to mourn the man before being struck down. He'd noted the date, and two-hundred years had done nothing to make it any less hurtful – the old man had been the closest thing he'd ever had to any family or anything else. At least he'd already lived his life through and had died at a relatively ripe old age.

Unlike himself, who'd only been a scant 25. Now . . .

Technically, was he still 25 years old, or was he now 225 years old? Curious.

What he'd also found curious were his new surroundings. Once he'd gotten the hang of utilizing his new . . . hardware, L had found himself quite interested in his new home. And his new abilities.

He'd figured out that almost everything was manipulated by his thoughts, or some indescribable workings of his will-power. Almost like breathing. Some of it was involuntary, and some of it he could choose to do. Like the human equivalent of opening his eyes, that he'd stumbled upon by accident, which resulted in his physical presence on what served as a 'roof' for his new housing circumstances. It was an odd feeling, that use of his holopad. Tingly, cold, the sensation of 'the chills' that he remembered as human was the closest thing he could relate it to.

But the transition was quick, and relatively painless. One minute he'd be in his own thoughts, and the next he'd have vision. Which, incidentally, was exactly the same as he remembered it.

The woman watching him . . . he hadn't been certain who she was when he'd seen her, but he'd had a pretty good guess. It had been her office that he'd seen, and she'd been waiting patiently there for him to come around. No doubt, she was the one responsible for his resurrection, if he could call it that.

She'd caught him on his first outing, when he'd been thoroughly confused and mumbling to himself. His mantra in Japanese. **L Lawliet. Born 10-31-1979. **Even in his haste to get away from her, he'd noted that she hadn't recognized the name, even when he'd directly queried her with it. That had been an important clue in determining that time had passed. A lot of it.

And then, cutting off his personal thoughts, she'd thrown a command at him. And he'd _obeyed_, yet not with any conscious decision on his part to do so. It had been one of those involuntary breaths, which apparently trumped the voluntary ones.

She'd cut him off in the middle of his breath.

_That_ had gotten his full attention, and he'd felt a semblance of anger cut through the haze of his confusion. L was _well_ aware of his size, and his circumstances, in relation to her. But that gave her no right to be nasty towards him. He didn't even know her, and she was treating him like some kind of slave?

Then he'd noticed . . . his vision. Something had caught his eye, and just like that, what he saw had changed. Blue washed over his sight, and he'd been able to pinpoint what it was that had caused the change – particles of light near her semi-solid display screen. They'd seemed important to him, and he'd found himself drawn to the tiny swirling things. Something called _interface_ that he could, in a way not understood, communicate with. He'd searched within himself, and found immediately a protocol with the same tag. And almost as if he were reaching his fingers out to touch an object, he could mentally touch that energy port.

His single-member audience had appeared amused by the incident . . . before she'd severed him from his new interest. And then more talking – questions that he hadn't been in the mood to answer, especially when she'd deprived him of his investigation of her information. If she wanted to know so badly, she would have to exchange something for those answers.

Every subsequent 'awakening' since then, if that's what it was, had been met with _her_. Her staring at him, examining him, boring down on him and analyzing him. He'd been afraid, but of what he didn't know. At the time, it had just seemed like a normal reaction.

It had taken him a great deal of time in getting used to her presence, as well as his own. Like a child with a new toy, he'd spent time testing and familiarizing himself with the technological park at his fingertips.

He'd also discovered that he could shape-shift. His choice of display was his own choosing, and he could transform it at will. Unsure of the happenings going on around him when he'd first come out, L had chosen to play it safe with his trademark '**L'** symbol. But once he'd figured out magnification of any object he concentrated on, he'd tested and played with his display. Her coffee, which he lamented the loss of; the objects littered about her bookshelf and desk; and eventually _her_. She'd laughed at his first failed attempts, and he'd been just a bit sore at that.

And he'd tried the interface again, only to find that she'd encrypted it against his access.

Peculiarly, his concentration on the attempts to break the encryption had soothed his frayed 'nerves' . . . comforted him in a way he couldn't explain. There'd been a great deal that he couldn't explain, and the monotony of working at the mathematics of her machine had calmed his anxiety at that fact. Just as he'd remembered doing so many times before in his mortal life, L had dedicated himself entirely to the task to blot out anything else that he didn't care to mull over.

Finally, after so many failed attempts, the sentinel keeping watch over him had offered to remove the lock-out, as long as he'd remained active and sociable. Active? Sure. If allowing her to watch him got him what he wanted, then he was agreeable to it.

Sociable? No. He hadn't been ready. Not to answer her questions, not to ask his own and hear her answers, and certainly not to engage in any lengthy discussion. He had just cut the umbilical cord in this new existence, and he'd needed time to reflect . . . to adjust. Who'd she think he was that could come right out of that transient _hell_ and pick up where he left off as if nothing had happened?

Not that he didn't understand her need. L knew that look in her eyes all too well – that desperate hunger for knowledge, for results, for success. He'd seen it in his own reflection more than enough to know that she had it _bad_. That was how he'd known who she was, and why she was watching over him. Whatever was happening, it was her work . . . her life . . . who she was.

And perhaps, it was more than that. He'd seen something else in those eyes, something warm and kind, and not just impersonal concern for her creation. He hadn't known what to call it, but it hadn't mattered. As much as he'd wanted to reward it with what she wanted, he'd been unable to do so then. She'd just have to wait until he was good and prepared.

But that hadn't meant that it was okay to sic her she-beast on him. That . . . malevolent creature of code she'd set upon him to baby-sit. It had been completely unnecessary to go that far. If certain things were off limits to him, she should have just told him so. Not that he would have listened, but she didn't know that.

Pandora, she'd been introduced to him as, and the name fit perfectly. She was _exactly_ the kind of 'woman' that would deprive men of all that was good in the world, and leave them with nothing but evil and hopelessness. And true to form, she had certainly deprived him of enough to make him feel hopeless. It had been a game to her, watching over him and stealing pieces of information he'd wanted access to, and she'd enjoyed it entirely too much.

_Bitch._ L couldn't ever recall using the term to describe the female half of humanity. He'd used _idiot_ . . . a lot, and he'd been fond of _bastard_ for the men. The women, however, he'd always just dismissed as brainless, and moved on. But this one hadn't been brainless – she'd been bright enough, albeit careless – so the term seemed to fit nicely on her.

So he'd had no misgivings about invading _her_ space and letting her know that he wasn't to be tampered with. Apparently, information on data theft had not been restricted to him, and that was probably because they'd thought it beyond his comprehension.

L could almost laugh. Even now, two centuries later, humanity was still underestimating him. Would they _ever_ learn?

The process hadn't been much different than when he'd been alive, only the mechanics had changed. And considering that he'd figured out those mechanics early on, it hadn't taken much at all to combine the knowledge and use it to let her know what he thought of her interference.

After that, he'd given up on his perusal of the machine's information. If it meant having to deal with that _thing_, then he could do without. He didn't want anymore experience with her, and he sure as hell didn't want to paired up with her for whatever reason he'd heard them discussing. That would be the worst, and if he had to break his silence a little early to appeal to a higher power about it, then that's what he had to do.

Since she'd left, after their unfriendly encounter, she hadn't returned to that pedestal of hers. And L was thankful for that, because he really wanted to be out and about. He felt as though he'd learned all he could with what he had available to him, and he was _bored_. He'd already studied those energy trees of his, and found that most of the data there was his own. The rest were just basic protocols for the operation of whatever he'd been turned into. And those that were still empty, he was curious about. No doubt there was more to be added, but what? And when?

His housing, he'd discovered, was just that. There was nothing of interest, nothing new, and the longer he resided here, the more it felt like a prison cell. He couldn't leave, and he had no access to a larger system the way Pandora seemed to have had. Of course, it made sense to limit his freedom. But he didn't have to like it, and in fact, he hated it. He wanted _out_.

So he spent the rest of his sentence on the outside, watching his pretty roommate and her friend converse. No. Pretty didn't do her justice. She was adorable; or at least, she would be if she didn't have such a stern look about her. Rare smiles and a rather severe looking chignon of brown hair, mixed with glasses and no-nonsense attitude, gave her that _governess_ thing that actually seemed to work for her. It seemed to work for her friend, too, since it was apparent that the boy was smitten with her.

He now knew, from her computer, that his _governess_ was Dr. Vey Shallin. L thought she looked a bit young for 'Doctor', but he had to remind himself that things might be different now. And her suitor . . .

She'd called him Shepherd. Examining him now, he didn't look like a Shepherd; he looked like an 'L'. In a lab coat. With curly black hair. And different eyes. But all in all, the man reminded him a lot of his human form – lanky and listless, pale and dark. A form he had yet to take in this new life. Not because there was any need to hide what he looked like. Not now, two-hundred years later, when most likely not a soul knew who he was. And not because he desired to do so. He didn't want to hide . . . to remain as some lifeless letter on a computer screen . . .

Although technically, isn't that _exactly_ what he was now? The irony of it made L want to laugh manically to the heavens. Something so cosmically hilarious would only happen to him.

No. His reason for not showing his true form was, simply, habit. He was so used to keeping that part of him hidden and separate, that it had been second nature to continue to do so. Well, the fact that showing his face had gotten him killed really didn't help matters, but it hadn't been a deciding factor in his form choice. It was just–

"Goodnight." Shepherd was addressing him, waving at his holoform as he walked towards the door to her office. Of course he didn't expect a response, and L didn't surprise him with one. A minute later, the boy was out the door and the good Doctor was in her chair, chin in hand with elbow on desktop. Since she'd been 'allowed' to stare at him openly, she spent most of her free time doing so in a rather aggressive way.

It didn't bother him now, not really. It's been several days since he'd lost his mind, and since then L felt confident that he'd worked out most of the kinks in his sanity. Currently, he felt almost human. That is, as human as he could possibly feel given the circumstances. He wasn't ready to pick out curtains or anything, but he was at least somewhat comfortable around her now.

Still, it wasn't time. Not just yet. He still had a bit more Housekeeping to do before he introduced himself proper.

* * *

Vey gazed upon the brilliant white of his display in front of her, pondering her conversation about Ronin. Shepherd had given her a hard time about it, adamant that he was the improper choice just as Pandora had said. Really, when had any of the decision making process been delegated to him? This was _her_ project, his ability to pull rank on her be damned.

In any case, he was right . . . in a way. Ronin wasn't the best choice for the job.

_Dantalion _was.

But he was an outcast – never considered, and his existence never acknowledged. In this installation's plethora of AI entities, Ronin was top-tier. But only because Dantalion was excluded, and for damn good reason.

He'd been an earlier failure of a team she'd been a part of a few years ago. Their last attempt at giving an AI the limitless ability to learn, his actions had been the catalyst for her team's disbandment, and the ultimate expulsion of all its members except her from the MSI. She would have been dismissed too, but certain circumstances had worked in her favor. She'd been the youngest member of the team, she'd been a pretty female, and most importantly, she'd been sleeping with one of the members of the committee responsible for her team.

A shame, it was, since the fault had lain with her. Dantalion had not been perfect – he'd shown a troubling distaste for human beings beneath that humanity-loving exterior of his – and she'd known it. But she'd still allowed the higher ups to assign him to some douche-bag hotshot Fleet Admiral. She'd had misgivings and doubts, but she'd let the others convince her otherwise. They'd wanted their grant money, and the brass wanted what they'd paid for. Dantalion had been too damn brilliant, and HIGHCOM had been too anxious to put him into use, and she'd kept her mouth shut.

After a few months in service without incident, she had started to believe that he'd settled down . . . that maybe he had grown out of that childish rebellious phase. Well, he _had_ grown out of it – right into full-blown rampant revolution.

Vey didn't know the specifics. He'd never offered the information, and she'd never been brave enough to ask. All she could tell anyone was that he'd gone berserk and sealed his handler, along with three other officers, in a lab and then had filled the room with noxious gas. It had taken them just over twenty minutes to die, in a very messy and very painful way. After the incident, the doors to the lab had been replaced with manual ones, and then HIGHCOM had made the decision to lock him away there with no outside access.

Why, she didn't know. Either they couldn't destroy him, or they'd chosen not to. They'd just left him there to rot, his genius of no apparent use to anyone.

Several times, Vey had gone there with the intention of changing that. Destroying an AI, especially one of his caliber, wasn't an easy thing to do. Which was why she'd implemented a fail-safe within him, just as she did with all of her prototypes. But ultimately, she'd always changed her mind at the last minute. It just wasn't something she could do. Dantalion had been her golden child, her _baby_, before he'd been anything else. She'd put everything she had into him, spent a great deal of time nurturing and teaching him, and he'd remained special to her even after his meltdown.

Besides, she'd never really liked his owner anyway. He'd probably gotten what he'd deserved, and the three others had simply been casualties of war. No great loss there.

Ronin was the lesser of two evils, and one that she could get by with choosing without a big fuss. But he was also the lesser of the two in terms of skill. Vey wanted the best for this new baby of hers, and that meant he had to learn from the best, not second best. She could keep it secret, couldn't she? Who had to know? The only problem left was Dantalion himself, and getting him to agree to something so beneath him. That would be–

Color flickered, and Vey brought her attention back to her sight. He'd been quiet and still, as always, and she'd almost forgotten that he was there. She'd gotten so used to black and white being there, that she sort of regarded it as a bright nightlight and used it as such.

Now, her nightlight was swirling about in a sandstorm of illuminated particles – the familiar blacks and whites that now mixed with a new blue color. He'd dissolved his previous incarnation, and looked to be now working on something else.

Vey raised her head from the desktop, preparing herself should he be getting ready to die. Wouldn't that just be her luck after all this time?

But he wasn't dying, she realized, when those grains of Light began to move with purpose and take shape. Like building blocks of faery dust, they moved about to form first human feet, then denim clad legs, and beyond to a plain white shirt. Continuing further, white-covered arms popped out on either side followed by pale skin of a neck. And as if it were the last little dollop of black whipped cream being applied to dessert, the black of his shaggy hair swirled into existence on top of an angular, pallid face. Tiny unused particles continued spiraling upwards until they evaporated into nothing, indicating the manifestation was complete.

It was . . . not what she had expected. Was this someone she was supposed to know, or something from his imagination? It was always hard to tell when their choice could be one of a trillion different things. No, not expected. But not in a bad way. In a different way . . . an odd way.

He looked dead. Not zombie-dead, but just-pulled-out-of-the-morgue-dead. There was very little color in his complexion, making it contrast sharply with the sable clusters of his dark mane. That hair covered the whole of his head as well as his forehead, his ears, and the back of his neck. It didn't poof, like Shepherd's hair, but it did come off as looking like one big collection of flyways that refused to be put in their place.

His body, she noted, seemed to exhibit the same kind of neglect that his hair did. He was thin, bony even, and the long length of his limbs only accentuated that fact. As if to reinforce that 'whatever' air about him, he slouched a bit more than the average person, turning his form into an 'S' shape. His clothing was simple, blue and white, and the material draped over the harsh angles of his body in a loose fit.

His eyes were still closed, their lashes sweeping across the white of his cheeks like black feathers in snow. With his head tipped back just slightly, Vey could see the dark shadows of sickly skin under his eyes. He looked young . . . the given age of twenty-five seemed to fit this holoform. Was this her little genius then? Had he chosen his own form?

After several moments, his eyes opened. And opened. And opened some more, until they finally stilled into great spheres that stared upwards. Vey was beginning to wonder if he would grace her with his notice when his pupils slid to the bottoms of their sockets in a penetrating glare. At first glance, she could make out no presence of an iris in those eyes – just fully dilated black. Vey had to squint her own eyes to find the bit of steel wrapped around each hole.

His head followed, lowering until dark marbles rolled back to the top of his whites. He didn't blink or waver in his stare, the only movement coming from his hands which buried themselves in the pockets of his jeans.

Neither spoke, both unsure of how exactly to proceed. He'd cock his head to one side ever so slightly, and Vey returned the gesture, turning hers the opposite way.

"I'm L." He spoke first, his voice that quiet, deep almost-whisper she remembered from last time.

"Well," Vey spoke with a smile, settling back on the desktop with chin in hand. "It's about damn time."

* * *

**Dantalion** - Probably should wiki that complex little guy. Duke of Hell, a scholarly daemon of sorts.


	11. Intentionally Left Blank

**Tunes in Profile:**

_Don't Lose Yourself_

_The Drugstore Sells Sparks!

* * *

_

**Intentionally Left Blank

* * *

  
**

L crouched backwards in a task chair, with his chin resting on arms crossed over the back, listening intently as Vey explained the entire process. From start to finish, she relayed everything that had happened until finally bringing him up to the current minute. Surprisingly, he took in all of it with very little reaction. A widening of the eyes here, a little pause of the blue code scrolling along his shirt there . . . but nothing drastic that indicated instability. In fact, he was as stable as she'd ever seen, and it made not a bit of sense.

The others . . . even without their memories, they had understood the meaning of their circumstances, and many of them had cursed and raged at her for turning them into "monsters" before imploding. After seeing it happen so many times, Vey had assumed that it was something inherent in the human animal that engendered such a response . . . something that told them they had been stripped of their humanity . . . robbed of their soul . . . reduced to a machine. She wondered why they failed to realize that a machine was _all_ the human brain was anyway. Did they really believe that there was some kind of magical force inside them that animated their existence? Ridiculous.

But this one, he seemed to understand that the brain was nothing more than clockwork with the ability to create and manipulate things such as language. And it struck Vey that maybe _that_ was why the presence of memories produced a viable result. This one . . . **L**, she had to remember . . . retained everything that made him who he was, including his knowledge of what makes one human. So was it that belief that served to override whatever it was that caused the meltdowns in the others? Or maybe that unknown of destruction wasn't present in . . . L, at all. Would keeping him in tact have made a difference at all then, if it had been simply luck of the draw?

All in all, he took it pretty well. _Very _well, actually. He even seemed especially interested in the details of his 'conversion', which couldn't please Vey more.

"To put it simply, you've taken my soul, for lack of a better term, digitized it, and put it inside a portable housing?"

"Basically."

"And now it's in this thing," he pointed down to the crystal platform he currently rested on before bringing that finger to his lips thoughtfully. "Which makes it possible for me to interact with you?"

"Yes."

"Interesting. What about that other one?" L scrunched his nose at the mention of her. "She seems to have a greater degree of mobility. Will I have that ability?"

Vey switched hands under her chin, using the other to tap a fingernail at his base. "Eventually. But first, do you understand what exactly she does?"

L stepped down from his chair to move closer to her, the vacated object behind him dissolving in a swirl of black pixie dust. "Besides terrorizing people? No."

Vey chuckled at him, amused by the 'sibling' rivalry going on between them. "The complex you're on houses a network built specifically for the AIs currently stationed here. A 'superhighway' of sorts, it's designed to give them instant access to any given location on the structure. Pandora is one of many who conducts specialized tasks throughout the installation, usually at my request."

"For what purpose?"

"Whatever you can think of. For instance, there are AIs that perform our record keeping. There are AIs that control the climate here. There are even AIs that reign over a certain piece of technology, or even an entire lab. Like Blind Radiance, who I'm sure you'll meet properly, whose domain is the conversion facility. Many of them are given responsibility just as a human being would have. Many of them are also assistants, like my Pandora. She does whatever I need her to, within her ability."

Eyes, dark as ink, gave her an admonishing look. "My Twenty-First century mindset whispers the word _slavery_ to me."

"That's one of the many controversies surrounding the AI field. And I suppose you could look at it that way. There's no real pay-off for what they do, and they typically don't have the capacity to refuse to perform their designated tasks. But people are generally respectful of them, and they rarely mistreat them. There are even instances in which an owner will become romantically attached to their AI."

"Common among slave-owners, I believe. Is that common now?"

"Not so very common, no. Owners bond with their constructs, of course. Many tend to think of them as pets, or that loyal warhorse of centuries past. But to go so far as anything else? You rarely hear about it. AIs have a finite lifespan, and it's a short one at that. People tend to not want to involve themselves given that knowledge."

"I see." He looked as though he really did see, with that concentrated look on his face. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and looked down to the non-existent dirt he kicked around. "And my lifespan?" he asked softly.

Vey had known this was coming, and her first instinct up until this point had been to lie. She had yet to tell him of his forerunners, and she still wasn't sure if she even wanted to. But lying to him now didn't seem the proper thing to do, not when he'd gotten this far.

"I don't know. It could be an hour, a week, a year. It could be the rest of my mortal life. You're the prototype of a construct that is supposed to last indefinitely, but whether that works out is anyone's guess."

"Story of my life." L mumbled under his breath, a sour look pursing his lips in a pout. After a moment more of staring downward in self-pity, he raised curious eyes back to her. "What are you intentions with me?"

"I assure you, they are of the most honorable kind. I would ask your hand in marriage, my dear, if you would have me." She gave a little wink.

He held up a hand in front of his face. "If you can find a ring to fit my finger, I'll take you up on that offer."

Vey gave a short-lived chuckle at that. "The truth is, I'm not sure. You're hopefully the first of many, but prototypes tend to end up in different circumstances than their successors."

At the word 'successors', his expression darkened, the bits of code on his form freezing in place for almost an entire second. "Successors?" he asked, more to himself than her. His hand fell back to his side, his posture deteriorating just a bit more. "Do you know who I am?" he asked after several moments, turning back to her.

"You mean who you were? No."

"Curious, then, that it didn't last." He mused out loud before deciding to explain to her. "My legacy, I mean. Do you have Google or some equivalent?"

"We do." Vey reached out to the semi-solid screen on her desk, tapping at the glowing blues and pinks of the display. "Query?"

"L + Detective. Could you please read what you find?" He came to the edge of his stage, watching her with interest.

She looked through the information returned, eliminating entries until coming across one that referenced his time period. "Recognized by the general public only by his alias, '**L'**, he was a world-renowned detective said to have held the top three spots in his respective profession. Known for his unequaled ability to solve difficult cases, **L** held a unique position among the world's police organizations that allowed him to call upon and direct those organizations however he saw fit."

"Although highly respected for his work on high profile cases, the LA-BB case being one of several, many remained mistrustful of his habit of keeping his identity a closely guarded secret. **L **communicated with law enforcement only by way of his assistant, Watari, or through a laptop, and it was because of this that he has been described by those who've worked with him as "elusive" and "hard to deal with".

"First formally introduced to the world during the onset of the _Kira Case_, December 5th, 2003, **L** became a constant presence in the public eye after his televised confrontation with the supernatural serial-killer termed "Kira". With the aid of the Japanese Task Force, **L** succeeded in defeating Kira on January 28th, 2010."

"**L** went on to solve hundreds of difficult cases, and remained undefeated until his abrupt disappearance in 2044 – the beginning of the Third World War. Many claim he was one of the first targets neutralized by the American Empire in their struggle for world power, but such claims remain unsubstantiated. The accepted belief is that **L** went into hiding in the American Midwest, and was subsequently killed in the enemy bombardments that destroyed the country."

"Third World War?" L repeated quietly from his cross-legged position on his pedestal.

"There's more. Should I read it?"

"Please."

"In recent years, with the discovery of hidden documents in an aging facility known as "Wammy's House", it has been implied that '**L**' is not one person, but is in fact a title passed down to gifted children who are incubated by said facility. It is said that the original '**L**' was murdered by 'Kira' on November 5th, 2004. The founder of the house, Quillsh Wammy, also passed on this day, and it is believed that Wammy may have been **L, **or may have worked with him. These documents have not been authenticated, and therefore these claims also remain unsubstantiated."

"That's it. Sounds like there should be more to such a complicated story."

"That's just the tip of the iceberg. One I would prefer you explored at a later time, Doctor."

"Of course." Vey shut off the display and remained quiet, given that her subject was clearly disturbed by the information he had requested. A world famous detective. Who would have thought? What were the odds that he would end up here, and Shepherd would pick him out . . .

Indeed. What _were_ the odds that he would have picked some nameless brain that just _happened_ to have come with Wammy . . . that just _happened_ to have the qualifications she was looking for?

"I suppose competing with a war wasn't something I was going to win. What do you think?" L turned obsidian glass, solemn and sad, towards her in question.

"No one won that one, L. That conflict brought humanity to its knees in ways that no one thought possible. Is that your real name, by the way?"

He hesitated, as though he would refuse to answer, before giving a tiny, almost imperceptible smile. "Yes. L Lawliet is my full name."

"Sounds French."

"It is. A play off famous French explorer, Joliet. You should feel honored that you're only the second person I've told that to."

"Ha!" Vey gave a bark of laughter at his arrogance. "I'll be sure to note that in my log. Right along with "hard to deal with"."

L scrunched his nose again, something Vey wasn't sure to peg as a habit of his, or some kind of tic that she should be worried about. "I'm not hard to deal with. I like to think of myself as a pretty easy going fellow. Given my current circumstances, I think I'm doing very well for a dead man."

"While I'll agree that you _look_ dead, you aren't dead."

He frowned at her, a wisp of raven hair falling to rest in-between his eyes. "I died."

"You _paused_, you mean. Your body died, but the brain isn't truly dead until it deteriorates beyond repair. Since you were preserved, you simply remained in a state of extended slumber. It wasn't your brain that failed, after all."

He stared at the ceiling for a moment, contemplating her words. "But my brain did fail."

This time it was Vey's turn to frown. "I don't follow. Your record indicates lack of oxygen, not–"

"It's not what killed me physically, but it's the reason for my death." He slid his gaze back to her, his head following a moment later. "My failure to defeat my suspect is what led to my heart attack."

Heart attack? At 25? That sounded suspect. But he'd requested that she didn't pry, so she refrained from taking the conversation down that road just yet. "I've already explained to you that you're not dead."

"And you didn't convince me of it, so maybe you should try again if my referring to it as death is an issue. I think . . ." L stood up, shuffling over to peer at the ledger she scribbled in with narrowed eyes. ". . .what are you writing?"

She didn't respond immediately, working to scratch her pen across the paper a few more times before sharing. "_Subject appears hard-headed, displaying an inability to be corrected on his outdated information. Current behavior indicates a superiority complex, possibly brought on by stress or instability_. I put that next to "_hard to deal with_" and "_arrogant_", in case you were curious."

"That's hypocritical. I already told you that I wasn't hard to deal with."

"Talk is cheap, L. Convince me."

L waved his hand dismissively at her. "See it your way. In any case, how long is this probationary period?"

"As long as I want it to be." Vey played with the antique pen in her hand, leaning back in her chair to regard him casually. He turned as his eyes followed, reminding her very much of a predator's gaze tracking its desired prey.

L gave a frustrated sigh, and as if his body were held up by a hydrostatic skeleton, the release of air slumped him even more. "And how long is that?"

Vey shrugged. "I don't know."

"There seems to be a great deal that you don't know. Perhaps there is someone who does know that I may speak to?"

"Looking to appeal to a higher authority? How very efficient of you. Unfortunately, there is none higher than myself when it comes to you. And when I'm satisfied that you are stable, we will go from there."

Vey could almost laugh. The poor boy, he looked at though he might stamp his foot, give a huff, and turn his back on her. But instead, he only pulled a hand out of his pocket to massage the bridge of his nose.

"Would it speed things along if I said that being an overconfident prick is normal for me?"

"Yes, that helps. What about the playing with your lips?"

"Normal."

"The toe curling?"

"Normal."

Vey scrunched her nose at him in the same fashion he had earlier. "And this?"

"An old habit of mine that seems to have resurfaced."

"Probably just something that got churned up from the bottom of your memory sediment. Nothing to worry about. All in all, how do you feel?"

"Fine. Better than I have in years, not counting your _pause_. The absence of mortal needs gives me an incredible sense of . . . freedom. Although . . . " L held out his hand, palm up, and gave it his full attention. It took just less than a full cycle for the beginnings of an object to materialize in a play of pink and white spirals – a teacup, complete with its accompanying saucer.

Vey watched in fascination as he brought the little cup to his lips and tested the liquid within. While she could see no reason why he wouldn't be able to taste it, given the brain should have no problem processing the information even in its digitalized stated, Vey had never seen anyone try it before.

"Well?" She asked when he gave a little grimace and cocked his head to peer into the cup with one eye.

L swallowed, hard. "Bitter, even with sugar."

She laughed. "You made it."

He turned his hand, letting the cup fall into dust. "Yes. I'll have to work on that."

"It may be that you're trying to process too many flavors at once. Try something simple."

"Simple? How about one of the most basic carbohydrates used by the human body?" L raised his hand with a fluid movement and gave a snap of his fingers. Apparently, he'd counted on something just a bit smaller, given his surprised reaction at the appearance of a sugar cube almost twice his size that solidified next to him. "The word _Mammoth_ may have crept into my thought process at the last minute." he explained sheepishly while looking over his new creation.

"I understand. Happens to me _all_ the time." Vey clicked her pen absentmindedly, watching as he 'stepped to the plate'.

With hands splayed out on one side of the cube, L leaned in and gave it a tentative little lick. "Perfect." he purred, before licking once more. Turning to her suddenly, he asked over his shoulder, "Do you mind?"

"That you make love to a gigantic sugar cube in front of me? Not at all."

His head lowered slightly. "Can I share?"

" 'Fraid Not."

"What a pity." With a jump, he latched spidery fingers onto the edge above him and pulled his body up to the top. "So why don't you tell me what you do know about my future?" He lay on his stomach, supporting his upper body on his forearms, and dipped his head down every so often to run his tongue along his sugary platform.

"Well, it depends. Protocol dictates that I hand you over to the higher-ups, and they'll make all those decisions. If I do that, there's a good chance they will want you destroyed."

L paused in his licking, his legs curling behind him in thought. "I'm illegal?"

Vey nodded, impressed with the observation. "In a way. You're the first of your kind, and prototypes are typically done away with once their technology goes into general use. Once they hear I've succeeded, your future will suddenly become very grim."

Her construct looked up, the blacks of his eyes twinkling with tiny bits of code. "How long do you think you can keep me a secret?"

Vey leaned forward to sit properly in her chair, tossing the pen on the desk in favor of steepling her fingers together. "I don't know. I can't keep you here forever, and there's more I want to do with you. But waltzing about out in the open will be risky. Tossing you into the system head first doesn't seem to be the best course of action."

"You have something else in mind?"

"I do. Thought I would start small – give you access to a closed system just to see how you handle it. A standalone cruiser maybe, or something a bit more . . . experimental."

Interested, L brought his legs forward to tuck them under himself, and raised into a crouching position on his cube. Giving her a questioning look, he asked "Such as?"

"Well," Vey gently pulled his platform to the edge of her desk, and leaned forward in her chair. "If you search for an Interface, you'll see it." She dipped her head, exposing the nape of her neck to the construct looking on curiously.

Initially, he didn't see anything. But upon closer inspection, he did see the sparkle of light that indicated an access port for him – just as he had seen with her computer. And as before, it was almost as if he could reach out and–

Vey straightened, chuckling. "That tickles."

For once, L looked thoroughly confused. "Are you human?"

"Oh, quite human. It's an implant – something I had done when I first started this project."

"And I can . . ." He searched for the right words. "I can _go_ in there?"

"Theoretically, although I'm not sure what will happen. We could fuse together permanently, thereby forcing one of us to commit cognitive suicide. Or you could end up overriding my consciousness entirely, turning me into some kind of slave inside my own mind."

"I like that one." L smiled deviantly at her, a hideously charming thing of twisted, sharp features and dark eyes.

"Or, it could work as I've intended, and we will simply occupy the same space at the same time within my brain."

"And how would that work, exactly? I'll have access to–"

"Everything." She finished for him excitedly. "My thoughts, memories, voluntary actions. Even my involuntary actions. One heart, two minds. I thought, what better way to streamline the association between AI and owner than to let them share the same 'housing'? Originally, it was for combat purposes to cut back on human error. But, it didn't go over well with . . . well . . . anybody."

"Amazing. Your dedication to your work is admirable."

Vey gave a nervous little laugh. "Admirable being another word for insane."

"Hardly. I've seen insane, Doctor. You don't qualify."

Vey opened her mouth to respond when Pandora's crystal warmed on the desktop. With a little fizzle, she was present in all her ancient glory. Vey gave the AI her full attention . . . L didn't even bother to turn around and look at her.

"_The Lieutenant is on his way here, Doctor._"

"Exactly who I needed to see. Let him in please, Pandora."

"_Yes Doctor_." She shot a nasty look at the back of L's head before disappearing.

"The boy from before. A friend of yours?" L hopped down from his massive confection and sent it away with a wave of his hand.

"Something like that, I suppose." Giving the display a gentle push, she gave both of them more breathing room.

"He looks like me."

"He does, doesn't he? A relative, perhaps?"

L gave a shy little smile, shifting on his feet. "No offspring to speak of."

Her office door slid open to give Shepherd entrance, and then slid closed. Immediately, his eyes focused on the new addition gazing at him quizzically, and a grin spread across his face.

"Hey!" Shepherd converged on the desktop, addressing the construct as if it were a new puppy. "Are you talking yet?"

L's eyes managed to widen just a bit more, and he shot a quick glance at Vey before returning to the eager boy. "Yes."

"Sit down, Lieutenant. We need to talk." Vey interrupted, turning in her chair to motion the sofa behind her. Shepherd obeyed, looking just a bit put out about it. Vey watched, collecting her thoughts on how best to approach him. If he'd lied before, he would no doubt do it again, and she needed to bypass that.

"Who is this?" Vey indicated L beside her with a graceful hand.

Shepherd looked confused, his dark eyes flicking from her, to L, and back to her again. "I don't understand."

Vey stared at the boy, giving him her worst glare. "His name, Shep. What is his name?"

His gaze went back to L, his face appearing to be in utter turmoil. Did he really not understand what she was asking . . . did he not know?

"Doctor . . ." L began, stepping forward to the edge of his crystal.

"Don't interfere." Vey tossed him a quick glance before pinning Shepherd again. "I will ban you from this office, and ultimately _him_, if you don't tell me the truth right this instant, Shepherd River!" Vey hated shrill, but sometimes it had its uses.

At the mention of his last name, the boy winced and screwed his eyes shut.

"River?" L interrupted again, garnering looks from both of them.

Suddenly, Vey got the feeling that she was quite out of the loop. Between L questioning the boy, and Shepherd's _oh shit_ expression, she found herself at a loss as to who she should be pressing for information now. As such, Vey addressed the ceiling.

"Just what is going on here?"


	12. Family Ties

_ . . ._

* * *

**Family Ties

* * *

**

**Tunes in Profile:**

_No. 25_**

* * *

**

No one spoke, and L wasn't entirely sure what to make of it all. But given the way this Shepherd River was pinching the bridge of his nose with a frustrated expression on his face, L could see that the boy's last name was not something L should have been privy to.

Or, more specifically, L suspected that it was the connection between himself and the Lieutenant that shouldn't have been discovered by the Doctor. Though, he couldn't imagine why. What was so important about who he, **L**, was in this situation? Two centuries was an awfully long time for there to be any remaining significance to _anything_ having to do with L.

Although, L would like to change that. The Doctor . . . he liked her. A lot. She was smart, and witty, and not bad with the conversation. But, he did _not_ fancy being some female's pet, no matter how agreeable she was.

He was **L, **damnit. He belonged on top of the world, not on top of the plastic . . . toy.

Unfortunately, being bite-sized put somewhat of a damper on that goal – leaving him with no choice but to wait and see what resources the Doctor was going to offer him. She'd said something about putting him in the system, and that sounded appealing.

She'd also said something about putting him in _her_, and L wasn't quite sure what to think about that. He'd have a body, at least. But then he'd have to deal with _all_ that fact entailed, and even he didn't know how he would react. Last he looked, when he'd had a body, he'd been definite male. And being in a female body? That was going to be . . . different.

What if they fused together . . . permanently, like she'd said? He'd have to piss sitting down for the rest of his life. What if she died, and he was stuck in there? Or what if she had sex? That sounded messy, and talk about _awkward_.

No. There would be _none _of that. If he could do it for twenty-five years, then so could she.

Speaking of sex, and more importantly . . .

Near propagated? With a . . . female?

Try as he might, L just couldn't get past that little tidbit of information. Because really, all he'd ever known was the boy, having died before meeting the man Near would have become.

No, scratch that. Not _would have become._ _Had_ become. L had to remember – life continued on even with him deceased.

And that was something that L did, in fact, regret. Near and Mello had been, for all practical purposes, _his_ children. Not that he'd ever spent more than a day in physical proximity with either of them . . . but he hadn't needed to. He'd known everything there was to know about them, knew their personalities like the back of his hand, and L had come to look on them as adopted sons in a way.

So having to learn about their lives two hundred years later, via the internet of all things, bothered him just a little. And even then, he _still_ didn't know with certainty which one of them had followed in his footsteps. He assumed it was Near, given Mello's inability to control his emotions, but stranger things have happened.

Like Near having children. !!!

As hard as it was to swallow, L could see by looking at Shepherd now that yes, the boy _had_ obviously managed to sire children at some point in his life. The resemblance was . . . not a fluke, like he'd first thought. Shepherd and himself _did_ look very much alike, just as he and Near had.

Something else L had wondered at more than once when he'd been alive. The eyes, the facial features, the personality . . . Near had reminded him _so_ much of himself when he'd been younger, that the similarities had practically begged for scrutiny. But, L had never had it in him to find out.

One's parents abandoning their son on the streets was hard enough to accept. One's parents doing it more than once? Despicable. And L would be better off _not_ knowing, instead of knowing for certain that two such disgraceful people could have produced him.

Maybe they were related after all, just as the Doctor had said. L had, in life, often wondered how much Near would look like him with dark hair. And now here was his answer, sitting on the sofa and staring at the Doctor without a word.

"Lieutenant," L decided to take advantage of the silence. "Am I safe in assuming that you're a descendant of _Nate_ River?" He asked pleasantly, trying his best to ignore the tension quickly filling the small office. He hoped the boy didn't bother denying it. Physical appearance trumped any lie he could tell.

Dark brown eyes focused on him, appearing black in the dim lit room. The more L examined him, the more he felt as though he was looking at himself. It was . . . disconcerting.

"Yes. He was my Grandfather, several times Great." The boy was no longer playing at being a nervous wreck, instead coming off as one in complete control of the situation, although L knew better. Clearly, he was able to deceive the Doctor. But L, who practically wrote the book on such deception, was not so easily fooled.

His ability to analyze the boy's voice pattern helped, too. Elevated, but within range.

"I see. And how familiar are you with him?" The Doctor gave him a quick glance out of the corner of her eye, but she said nothing.

"I'm not sure I understand what you're asking me."

"What I mean is, what can you tell me about him?" L was curious as to how much he knew, and who better to ask than a direct relative?

"Only what has been passed down by the men of my family. After you died, he left the orphanage to pursue your murderer. After that, he carried on your work as 'L' for the rest of his life, occasionally serving as an Ambassador to several countries on the side in an effort prevent the coming war."

Shepherd paused to gather information from his memory, his eyes remaining fixed upon the display questioning him. "This was during a time of political unrest that left no country unaffected. The European Union, which encompassed almost all of Europe and Asia at that time, collapsed entirely."

"Creating a domino effect." L stated softly, glad that he missed _that_.

"Yes. Economies all over the world came to standstill, and several governments dissolved almost overnight. The American Empire was one of the last strongholds remaining in the political storm, and Nate went there in hopes of convincing them to remain neutral and to continue their policy of acting as benefactors to many of the countries under strain. Japan and Russia, who had remained more or less loyal to **L**, were already on board and in the process of recruiting a handful of other, still functional nations."

"But," A disgusted frown twisted Shep's pale features. "The American Empire, who had initially been cooperative, later decided to make a grab for power during the chaos. Nate knew about it several weeks before it happened, and intended on making it public. But as he was leaving the country, his confidante in the American Government gunned down both him and his wife on the runway at the last minute. He died at the scene, having taken the brunt of the assault in an attempt to save my Grandmother." Shepherd shrugged. "But she died anyway, a few days later from her wounds."

"She traveled with him?" _Idiot_. Near knew better.

"She went everywhere with him. She was his assistant before she was anything else. Besides, to hear my father tell it, she was a real virago – so it's not like he had much of a choice. We've never been known for our ability to control our women, in my family."

Apparently not. And L didn't miss the quick shift of the boy's eyes to Vey when he said it, either. Not that it was any of his business, but L found himself wondering at the relationship between the two.

"I understand. One more thing . . ."

Closing his eyes, L conjured up what he remembered of Mello, the other boy in line with Near to succeed his title. Blond, blue-eyed . . . a golden-boy image that turned the unsightly genius stereotype on its ear.

Just like Yagami Light had.

Much like he'd done with the Doctor, L concentrated on the image of the boy – mapping out his features in the same way he used to memorize bits and pieces of information. His 'brain' tingled, a sensation he had since learned to equate with the changing of his physical form. And then there was that chill, like cold energy rippling down his spine. Something he'd always been told came from someone stepping on a grave.

Ink black lightened to fiery gold. He lost a handful of inches. Denim and white fabric darkened to solid black. And when L opened his eyes again, a steel blue color existed in place of black marble.

"This boy. Do you know of him?" L asked, his voice remaining the same dispassionate drone it had always been.

"Yeah. He made for some pretty interesting stories around the dinner table when I was young. Killed by Kira in 2010, although he made it possible for Nate to ultimately catch Kira in the end."

"So you know about the Kira case?"

"Absolutely." Shepherd gave in a smug tone, leaning back against the sofa to cross one leg over the other in a picture of cool, calm, and collected. "The truth is, I know more about you than I do anything else. Learning about the original **L** is something of a family tradition – something we're all expected to aspire to in our own way. You're like our family . . . shrine, I guess you'd say. Nate respected you a great deal, and that was something he wanted passed down through the generations."

L was thunderstruck. This was so unlike the Near he'd thought he'd known. He'd taken the boy for a real prick . . . a nasty piece of work. Not a family man. Not someone who would instill in his children the legacy of an **L** other than himself.

Which begged the question – why was _he_ really there? What possible motive could the boy have for bringing him back, if any at all?

"_So the half-breed and the Lieutenant are related_?"

Pandora popped in to his left, probably just to irritate him with the hatefully worded question.

Vey was the first to react, turning on her in a hushed shout. "_Pandora_! What have I _told _you about eavesdropping?"

_"Not to get caught?"_

"Out."

By the sudden movement in his peripheral vision, L could tell that she obeyed, albeit with a delayed response. He bet it just pissed her off to no end that _he_ could be here, and she couldn't. And that made L feel King of the Hill. Or at least the Doctor's desk.

Remembering his own display, L made a conscious effort to return to his own body. And with a blink of his eyes, L found himself back in his own dark-haired, black-eyed, taller form.

"Excuse me."

The softly spoken request came from the Doctor, who was turning in her chair and moving to leave. L wondered what it was that so disturbed her about this new turn of events? Was '**L**' still a title that held some kind of significance in this century, even though she had failed to affirm as such? Or maybe she just didn't like the idea of reanimating someone like him?

He was glad that she had. That was a certainty, now that he'd gotten used to the idea. This future stuff, and all its possibilities, was kind of starting to grow on him.

"Wait a minute." Shepherd jumped from his seat on the sofa, and stilled her retreat with firm fingers around her arm.

"I want you gone when I return." She shot back at him, jerking her person from his hold.

L could sense that the stress levels in _her_ voice were _not_ within range. Maybe she would hit him. L wouldn't blame her if she did, and it would be entertaining, at least. Doubly so if he hit her back. And his money was definitely on The Doctor, who looked like she could knock out Hercules right about now.

Vey turned an angry, controlled fury on the boy. "You _lied_ to me!"

Shepherd remained calm, meeting her red hot gaze with cool composure. "Yes." He answered simply.

"You knew who he was even before he got here!" Vey accused him loudly.

Shep nodded once. "I'd hoped, yes."

"And you kept it from me, because you _knew_ I would refuse him!?"

"Yes." He confirmed in a neutral tone.

So that was it . . . she was uncomfortable with working with such a high-profile subject. Was it because of the instability she'd told him about? He really didn't mind . . . much. After dying once, all other occurrences seemed to pale in comparison. Maybe he should try to explain that.

"Deactivate." She snapped at L, who promptly obeyed in a fizzle of light. He had no choice, having been hard-wired to follow any root command she gave him.

Oh well. He'd try and get the details later.

Turning her attention back to the flesh and blood image in front of her, Vey pinned raging eyes on him. "You _used_ me?"

"No." He made another grab for her arm, and Vey snatched herself away from him to take a step back. "Will you stop being so dramatic, and _listen_ to me?"

"_Dramatic_?" She asked, incredulous.

"Yes. You're overreacting. Can you at least sit back down?"

"I will not. I gave you an order, _Lieutenant_. I want you out." Vey straightened herself, putting as much authority in her voice as she could muster.

Shepherd cocked his head, a crooked smirk turning one side of his mouth up. "I'm your superior officer, or did you forget?"

"By virtue of rank, if nothing else." Vey muttered wryly, more to herself than him.

"I think you know that's bullshit. Besides, you don't want me to leave anyway. So sit down, and I'll explain."

He stepped aside, and indicated with a graceful hand the sofa behind him. And after a moment more of giving him the hardest look she could conjure, Vey acquiesced to his demand and took herself off to occupy the far end of the settee. Taking longer than necessary to straighten her skirt, and her temper, she crossed one leg over the other and looked up at him expectantly. And just like that, she was all sweetness, sunshine, and rainbows.

"You have sixty seconds. Please begin."


	13. Hysteresis

**Tunes in Profile:**

_Inertia Creeps_

_Mezzanine

* * *

_

"His skin taking on a sickly pale hue completed the transformation into a flawless copy. His new concentration-camp physique even stooped a little, and he brought a finger to his lips."

* * *

**Hysteresis**

**

* * *

  
**

"Wait. _Vey_!"

Lieutenant River had hounded her entire journey to this complex almost non-stop, the zeal in his voice increasing with every step. He'd tried threats, he'd tried bargaining . . . he'd even tried appealing to the emotional side of her female brain.

All had failed. She'd already made up her mind – had made it up the second she'd cut his attempt at reconciliation short, snatched **L**'s chip from its housing, and hurried out of her office with him right behind her.

"_Damnit_! Listen to reason." He tried again, his voice sounding just a little too desperate for his liking.

Stopping just outside the windowless manual doors of her destination, Vey turned to address the pest at her heels with a sneer.

"Your opinion, _Lieutenant_, is no longer something I value. If you disagree with my methods, I suggest you spend your time elsewhere." Turning from him, she pulled an antique key from the pocket of her suit trousers.

Stepping between her and the matching lock, Shepherd obstructed her progress in a last ditch-effort to change her mind. "This is madness. _He's_ mad. You can't trust him."

"Trust isn't a required part of the equation. Otherwise, you would no longer be here. Step aside." Her eyes hardened into an _or else _glare.

Shepherd shook his head slowly. "I've already explained my reasoning for hiding the truth from you. You have my word, there's nothing else."

"More _lies_," she spat back at him. "But as long as you keep my secret, you can keep your own . . . whatever they may be."

Glancing up, the Lieutenant gave a cruel, mocking laugh to the ceiling. "Jesus, do you hear yourself? You make it sound like I'm some kind of infiltrator here to steal your work."

"Maybe you are. It would certainly explain a lot more than your little piss-poor _family shrine _story."

"And maybe I'm not. Regardless, this is a foolhardy action any way you look at it. Even for you."

And she smiled. That spiteful, wicked grin that made his skin crawl. "A shame you feel that way, because it's your betrayal that solidified this decision for me. It's my way or no way, Shep." She held up the tiny metallic casing, the luminescent blue within radiating from between the fingers curled tightly around it. " So unless you want to see **L** destroyed, get out of my _way_."

She was serious, Shepherd had no doubt. "You would go that far?"

"Considering it's what I _should_ have done the second I learned his identity . . . absolutely. If you want push me into a corner, then expect desperate measures."

Speaking of desperate measures, he was almost tempted to strong-arm her against the wall and wrench **L**'s chip from her possession. Almost . . . but not quite. While the idea had merit, it would put unnecessary kinks in his plan. He still needed her expertise . . . still needed her to complete the process that would make **L** the most capable entity known to man. And while she was clearly mistrustful of him now, Vey wasn't to the point of excluding him entirely from the project. Not yet, and such an action would undoubtedly put her in that situation in two shakes. Something he _didn't_ need.

Besides, did he really want to create that kind of animosity between them? When it was all said and done . . . did he want her to hate him?

No. He had no choice. He would be most effective in his current position, for the time being anyway. Moving aside, he could do nothing but watch that key as it found its way through the old-fashioned locking mechanism that sealed these doors.

* * *

This rectangular room, at first glance, was like any other – silvery-white walls, artificial lighting overhead, blue-marble tiling for flooring. A sofa, made of black artificial material, sat against the east wall – to the right of the door they just entered through. No windows, and no other creature comforts. It wasn't until one took a good, hard look around that he or she might notice what set this 'lab' apart from most others.

Almost the entire floor, with the exception of the tiny section beneath the sofa, wasn't a 'floor' at all; but instead a giant holographic display for the AI lucky enough to live here. The same corresponding space on the ceiling completed the system – made up of rows and rows of advanced crystal elements protected by a shielding of glass.

Shepherd looked around – examining everything with the sharp eyes his genetics had graced him with. Unlike Vey, he'd never been in this room before. Few people had - either because they'd never known what dwelled here, or because they knew and wisely kept their distance.

A pocket of crystals almost in the center of the ceiling overhead warmed, followed a second later by the crystal floor directly underneath, and both human occupants backed their way toward the east wall.

Vey looked to the Lieutenant as he came to stand beside her. _Her_ Shepherd might have spooked; but this one only stood there with a look of cautious curiosity in his eyes as he waited for artificial creature to show itself.

"Well, look who it _is_!" A disembodied rumble filled the small quarters – manically merry in its tone. Laughter followed, just as demented, before the swirling of brilliant light began its formation into a life-size image.

Pinks and blacks and pale whites quickly took shape – cycling through a myriad of half-formed figures until apparently finally deciding on the right one. Or, the right two. Vey wasn't impressed with the greeting – she'd known what to expect. But Shepherd wasn't as used to the AI's antics as she. He stiffened abruptly beside her, his wide-eyed gaze glued to the couple _in coitus_ not more than five feet in front of him.

"Caught with your pants down?" The AI's voice asked Shepherd in mocking amusement, referring to his perfect copy of the Lieutenant's slender frame curled over a very nude, equally perfect Vey from behind.

Vey had to give it to him – he was precise, if anything. If she didn't know any better, she'd have thought they had walked in on co-workers who'd sought out this room to have a quick go at it. She recognized the several articles of clothing strewn about the floor, having been discarded by the pair currently using the desk as a mount; and Vey could see the shiny glisten of worked-up sweat that covered them both. She even recognized the scattered notes on the desk _she_ was currently bent over as belonging to a matter of intense debate between them some time ago, and knew that if she got close enough – she could probably read them.

She wondered if she should have prepared Shepherd. But then, the boy deserved whatever unnerving he suffered from at the hands of this evil incarnate AI. Served him right. Turning her back on the performance, Vey walked over to the sofa to seat herself calmly. She _was_ used to it; but hearing her own voice in such a context and _seeing_ them go at it like a couple of lions still managed to have an effect on her, albeit slight.

"Still into voyeurism these days, Danta?" She asked over the susurrations of their duplicates in a conversational tone as she leaned back against the cushion casually.

The image dissolved suddenly, a final female cry echoing throughout the room. "Just you," the AI's own voice followed. "You're such a splendid performer. Wouldn't you agree, lover boy?"

Shepherd didn't respond, instead glaring back at the Doctor over his shoulder. When it came to reactions to Dantalion's mischief, she'd seen worse. Other than the forced movement of his Adam's apple, and the downright cross look in his eyes as if he were accusing _her_ of being responsible, he was managing quite well actually. And after a moment more to compose himself, the Lieutenant moved to join her.

Energy came to life again – particles of light building upon one another until the AI's own image formed in the center of the room.

The demonic construct loomed over them in all of his full-size glory. A six-foot tall display of human splendor, Dantalion was truly a sight to behold. Currently, he adopted the form of what many assumed Satan to look like – a man of youth and unparalleled perfection. Instead of horns, he wore a thick cover of black waves. Instead of flaming red, his skin covered him in a cool, healthy porcelain color. But his eyes – in all their creamy ruby glory – retained every inch of evil one expected to see when looking upon the Great Duke of Hell. He wore all black in an 18th century style tailored suit. Imposed on that black were bright red segments of code that scrolled vertically along the length of him.

One of many forms. Dantalion was, what some called, a shape shifter. And one with real talent, as no doubt just displayed. While almost all AIs had the ability to morph, most tended to adopt one form and stick to it. But Dantalion was true to his name, and changed his appearance often.

Well, he used to anyway. Vey supposed it didn't do him much good since he was now isolated almost entirely.

But when he'd been with her, it had been one of the first troubling traits she'd noticed about him. Whenever he'd wanted to intimidate or frighten someone, he'd turn into something ghastly that usually involved a great deal of blood and human suffering. Something that probably wouldn't bother most people . . . except it was usually an exact copy of his victim that he showed.

She still remembered the first incident with one of her team members. An older gentleman, he'd been one of the engineers who had been adamant about sending Dantalion off into general use. An argument ensued, over what specifically she couldn't recall, and the old man had attempted to put Dantalion in his place with a few dismissing words. And before anyone knew what happened, the poor guy had fainted and hit the floor, having been presented with an image of himself prying out his own heart with his fingers and shoving the still beating organ into his mouth.

Blood lust. Dantalion had a thing for the crimson liquid, and used any opportunity he could get to unnerve people with it.

But other moods would bring other forms. He could be extremely charming when he chose to be, showing others a calming or pleasant vision of youth and purity. Or he could be playful, showing the jester within with clever humor and practical jokes.

Or, he could be manipulative, with a too-easy smile and purring voice . . . like he behaved currently.

Yet for all his disturbing traits, there was good to be found in Dantalion. When it came to ability, especially that of intrusion/counter-intrusion, he was peerless. He could read people like no AI should be able to, and he could adapt his own behavior in such a way as to convince anyone of anything. He possessed a wealth of knowledge on just about any subject one could think of, and he was always eager to share.

Most importantly, his time with his chosen Admiral had given him access to highly secure information – weapons, deployment, high-ranking personnel, mission details, and more. He could operate any vehicle, aircraft, or cruiser available, and do so with an accuracy that no human being could achieve. He knew who was who, why they were who, and what it would take to make them no longer that who if one so desired such a downfall. He knew his way around almost any form of technology – even sensitive technology – and he also possessed the ability to learn new protocols on the fly.

None of that she could get from Ronin, and all of it she needed.

"Really, Vey. Are you going to remain silent, or are you going to discuss with me with you've come to discuss."

His use of her first name used to bother her, but since his isolation she supposed it no longer made any difference, so she stopped correcting him a long time ago.

"You speak as if you know why I'm here."

Dantalion leered at her, an insane yet attractive twisting of his lips. "I know _exactly_ why you're here." He held a hand in front of himself to balance a blood-red flame within his palm. "I even know who _that_ is." He slammed his hand closed, dispersing the blaze into scarlet droplets that dissolved before they hit the ground.

Without realizing it, Vey's own fingers tightened their hold protectively around the fiery-blue energy contained within.

"You know nothing." Shepherd spoke up softly from beside her. "This cell keeps you isolated from the rest of the system."

The AI chuckled at him, as it would an ignorant child. And with a dramatic clap of his hands, Dantalion gave credence to his words in a flash of intense light.

"You see?" He asked from behind empty dilated pupils, in a low and monotonous drone. His perfect black hair disheveled itself into spiked ends, and his well-tailored suit fell away to worn blue denim and long-sleeved white. His skin taking on a sickly pale hue completed the transformation into a flawless copy. His new concentration-camp physique even stooped a little, and he brought a finger to his lips.

Precision. Like no other.

"How?" Vey asked, quite sure he wasn't going to tell her but unable to stop herself from asking anyway.

This L, as big as she'd ever seen him, stepped closer to the pair to bring himself face to face with the Lieutenant. Leaning in, he stared at the boy with the same intense concentration that letter was known for.

He cocked his head to one side, his voice a half-whisper. "It's like looking into a mirror." Then the other. "Only . . . not."

Shepherd pressed himself back into the sofa cushion, despite himself. And when the beast's tongue emerged from parted lips as if to lick at his own, it was all Shep could do not to jump up and quickly distance himself from it, the fact that the AI couldn't physically hurt him notwithstanding.

Drawing his tongue back into his mouth, Dantalion gave a falsely reassuring smile. "To answer your question," he began, his dead eyes still intent on his victim. "A little birdie told me." With a wink, he straightened and retreated backward a few inches to regard them both with twisted delight.

As if he could feel her stare, Shepherd's head snapped toward Vey. "No. _Never_."

It didn't matter. It wasn't something to be discussed in the presence of an AI hovering on their every word. But if not Shepherd, then she had to wonder who? Pandora? Another AI? She didn't think that possible.

Because it wasn't, she realized as she shifted back to regard the construct through narrowed slits. Even with a priority override beyond her own, no one could force Pandora into relaying confidential information. Not even an Admiral.

But, there was nothing that prevented Dantalion from using her as a conduit. And while Pandora was no novice, Dantalion's skill was such that the lesser AI wouldn't even notice the breach, leaving the intruder free to listen to and watch _everything_.

"Someone's granted you access." She murmured in quiet surprise. "In exchange for what, I wonder?"

"Ohhhh," he sighed, his gaze falling to where his fingers picked at the hem of the white material of his shirt. "There are all sorts of things certain people would want of me. Things they would want to keep _undisclosed_, of course."

Vey rolled her eyes upward, derision coloring the tone of her voice in dark humor. "Clearly, whoever it is has no idea that you can't keep a secret to save your life."

Black holes rose to meet her own, accompanied by the barest of smirks. "I know. Isn't that funny?"

No, it wasn't funny at all. Not when she had her own secrets to keep, and someone was allowing Dantalion to run around wild throughout the system. "Was snooping in my office a request made by this liberator of yours?"

A skeletal hand came to rest against the fiend's heart, as if he were wounded by her question. "Why Vey, you know I would _never_ spy on you, except for my own personal enjoyment." He shrugged indifferently. "I just happened to be in your neck of the woods, and thought I would stop by for afternoon tea. I'm very limited in where I can go and what I can do, so I decided to take advantage of the opportunity. No harm in that, is there?"

"Did you _tell_ anyone?" Shepherd demanded suddenly, no longer content to just sit and glower at the beast while he played games.

Dantalion only glanced briefly at the upstart before black holes darted back to Vey. "He's very convincing, that one. But no, I've not spilled your little secret. I would gain nothing, so why bother?"

"So, you'll teach him then?"

"You mean, can he be taught?" The AI asked seriously, the smile falling from his pale pink lips.

"He's off the scales. Extraordinary . . . much like you."

The demon gave a sigh, slumping his already stooped form just a little more. "I don't think you quite realize what you're trying to accomplish, Doctor. He's _human_ – and you think he'll succeed where all other AI but myself have failed? He'll only end up mutilating his own data, and I'll have done nothing but waste my time."

"Then he'll die, and I'll owe you double for your so _limited_ time." Vey shot back with as much sarcasm as she could gather. "But if you refuse–"

"Yes, _yes_." Dantalion cut her off impatiently, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning his back on them to move closer to the west wall. "How _embarrassing_, that an entity such as myself is forced to do the bidding of human beings. Maybe I should just let you do it and be done with it."

Vey had no response for that, and all three of them fell into a prolonged silence that left each to their private thoughts. Shepherd stood and set to pacing back and forth in front of the sofa, absently pulling at the dark curls at the back of his head in thought. Vey remained seated, her gaze still intent on the diabolical AI as she considered whether or not this really _was_ the best course of action. Dantalion kept himself separated from them, opting to face the far wall in what seemed like quiet thought.

A very human action that didn't last long. Turning, this false L extended an arm suddenly, and held out his hand expectantly – as if he were God himself reaching down to man. Vey looked down, her fingers uncurling themselves from warm metal and light. The chances of this being anything other than a death sentence were indeed slim, just as Dantalion said. But the alternative, she realized, was no better. There was no one else to give him the knowledge that Dantalion possessed, and without it . . . **L** would find himself at the mercy of those in power.

Raising her head, she found Shepherd staring down oddly at her, and Vey could tell that he thought she was going too far. Maybe she was. But, she did not get where she was because she played by the rules; she'd made it this far because she liked to take risks.

Something the boy should have considered before tricking her into bringing one of the greatest minds of the early twenty-first century back from the dead.

With a flick of her wrist, as if dealing out a card, Vey sent the construct flying across the room heedlessly. Like a coin being flipped from one's fingers, the tiny chip twisted and turned itself as it made the journey, alternating in flashes of shiny metal and bright blue. She watched, as did Shepherd in wide-eyed surprise, as it reached the peak of its arc, and descended neatly into Dantalion's waiting palm as if traveling on a rail system.

"He can . . ." Shepherd murmured beside her, incredulous. " . . . _touch_ things?"

A slow smile spread its way across the sharp features of Dantalion's current manifestation, as if he were a pyromaniac who'd just gotten the go-ahead to light the place on fire.

"Some things," Vey answered for him. "You see why I chose him? There's a great deal he can do that other AIs cannot."

Long fingers curled around the construct, and as if to reiterate Vey's comment, Dantalion appeared the squeeze **L**'s chip until it vanished from his hand and into thin air with a _pop_.

Shep's reaction was an immediate step forward, as if he could somehow retrieve what human hands could no longer touch.

"Relax, Lieutenant. He's not hurting anything." Vey reached up, fastened her own fingers about one slender wrist, and pulled Shepherd back down to sit beside her. "Just watch."

Her partner obeyed, although from his standpoint there was nothing to see. The demon looked no different, and only stood there with his eyes closed, his hand coming back down to rest at his side.

"What's he doing?" He leaned over to whisper in her ear after a few seconds of waiting.

"Reading **L**'s data – gathering information about him before the initiation."

"Initiation?" Shep asked, sounding put-out by his own ignorance of the AI's process.

Before Vey could answer, Dantalion's eyes snapped open suddenly. "Interesting," he mused out loud, "that you would pick this one Doctor." The AI waited for no response, and gave a quick _snap _of his fingers.

To his left, another pocket of crystals above shimmered to life, and the sudden swirl of an ice-blue sandstorm filled the empty space between floor and ceiling. Tiny particles zoomed about, this time filling an expanse of several feet instead of several inches, before colliding with one another to form larger, more recognizable pieces. They worked their way up, beginning with denim-clad legs and ending with that dollop of black cream that completed the formation.

"Splendid!" Dantalion exclaimed proudly, turning to regard the original that his current display still copied.

It took a moment for L to gather his bearings. He first looked downward at himself, either in surprise at his sudden increase in size or just to make sure that everything was in its place, and then he looked ahead of him to the two-person audience sitting on the sofa. His surroundings were next, sharp eyes mapping every inch of the lab, and the copy of himself was last.

Recognition sparked in those black diamonds of his as he turned to face the other AI, and Dantalion made no effort to correct what he _knew_ the boy would assume. In fact, he played upon that knowledge he had of the detective now, and cocked his head in a false show of his own recognition.

"Don't you remember me?" He asked, taking a handful of steps that closed the distance between them. When L didn't answer, but only continued to stare, Dantalion pushed a little further until the two mirror images shared the last crystal between them that had a moment before separated their displays. "Come now, don't be shy _detective_." he purred in L's own voice, his face too close for comfort.

Still, L stood his ground against the demonic double – his eyes never wavering even under their own scrutiny. It wasn't until Dantalion graduated to _touching_ – his fingertips reaching to pull at a wayward wisp of clumped black at L's forehead just to see if he _could_ – did the detective respond by shoving the AI back by his shoulders hard enough to force him back several steps.

It was a warning – L's way of telling him that he was not to be tampered with. And Dantalion, true to his nature, completely ignored it. He simply smiled at the very human response, and advanced again to continue the dance.

"I think that's enough," Vey was beside them suddenly, and deliberately stepped in-between the two as if they were rambunctious children, disturbing the energy of both. They separated immediately, not as fortunate as she was to remain unaffected by the pseudo-contact.

"That _tingles_." Dantalion complained for both of them when his form re-stabilized.

"I didn't feel a thing. Now leave off, and stop playing games." Vey crossed her arms over her chest in a no-nonsense stance, turning to an L that was now taller than her as Shepherd came to stand at her side. "L, this is Dantalion – another of this installation's AIs. He's agreed to show you a few things that I can't teach you."

L looked from her to over her head. "Dantalion? One of Solomon's Daemons?"

"That's right." Dantalion shot back irritably, still fussing over his perfectly fine display.

"Who did you think he was?"

The question brought L's gaze back _down_ to Vey, something he found he missed dreadfully after having to look _up_ constantly. "No one," he lied. "I wasn't sure what to make of him, honestly." He looked to the Lieutenant in an effort to gauge whether or not the boy knew better, and found that Shepherd appeared to have no idea. Or if he did, he hid it extremely well.

"At any rate, I'm going to leave you with him temporarily." L nodded, and Vey made a one-eighty to face Dantalion. "Make an effort to get along with him, or I'll stick you in his portable. Do _not_ take him out of this room, and don't go around telling all your friends about him. If I get him back any different than I gave him, heads will roll. Understand?"

The demon pulled a face at her – his version of brooding. "I don't have any friends."

Vey smiled in response. "Exactly."

* * *

Once they were out the door and halfway down the hallway, the Lieutenant decided it time to voice his concern.

"Is it wise to leave him there?"

Vey cast him a quick sidelong glance, as if she weren't sure whether she wanted to answer him or not. "Maybe, maybe not," she replied with finally. "We'll just have to see, won't we?"


End file.
